Everything Is Held Together With Stories. That

We Cannot, Of Course, Save The World Because We Do Not Have Authority Over Its Parts. We Can Serve The World Though. That Is Everyone's Calling, To Lead A Life That Helps.

The Land Is Like Poetry: It Is Inexplicably Coherent, It Is Transcendent In Its Meaning, And It Has The Power To Elevate A Consideration Of Human Life.

Because You Have Seen Something Doesn't Mean You Can Explain It. Differing Interpretations Will Always Abound, Even When Good Minds Come To Bear. The Kernel Of Indisputable Information Is A Dot In Space; Interpretations Grow Out Of The Desire To Make This Point A Line, To Give It Direction. The Directions In Which It Can Be Sent, The Uses To Which It Can Be Put By A Culturally, Professionally, And Geographically Diverse Society Are Almost Without Limit. The Possibilities Make Good Scientists Chary.

Watching The Animals Come And Go, And Feeling The Land Swell Up To Meet Them And Then Feeling It Grow Still At Their Departure, I Came To Think Of The Migrations As Breath, As The Land Breathing. In Spring A Great Inhalation Of Light And Animals. The Long-bated Breath Of Summer. And An Exhalation That Propelled Them All South In The Fall.

Over The Years, One Comes To Measure A Place, Too, Not Just For The Beauty It May Give, The Balminess Of Its Breezes, The Insouciance And Relaxation It Encourages, The Sublime Pleasures It Offers, But For What It Teaches. The Way In Which It Alters Our Perception Of The Human. It Is Not So Much That You Want To Return To Indifferent Or Difficult Places, But That You Want To Not Forget.