Having To Squeeze The Last Drop Of

Hemispheric Solidarity Is New Among Statesmen, But Not Among The Feathered Navies Of The Sky.

Acts Of Creation Are Ordinarily Reserved For Gods And Poets, But Humbler Folk May Circumvent This Restriction If They Know How. To Plant A Pine, For Example, One Need Be Neither God Nor Poet; One Need Only Own A Shovel.

We All Strive For Safety, Prosperity, Comfort, Long Life, And Dullness. The Deer Strives With His Supple Legs, The Cowman With Trap And Poison, The Statesman With Pen, The Most Of Us With Machines, Votes, And Dollars. A Measure Of Success In This Is All Well Enough, And Perhaps Is A Requisite To Objective Thinking, But Too Much Safety Seems To Yield Only Danger In The Long Run. Perhaps This Is Behind Thoreau's Dictum: In Wilderness Is The Salvation Of The World. Perhaps This Is The Hidden Meaning In The Howl Of The Wolf, Long Known Among Mountains, But Seldom Perceived Among Men.

I Love All Trees, But I Am In Love With Pines.

When We See Land As A Community To Which We Belong, We May See It With Love And Respect. - Perhaps Such A Shift Of Values Can Be Achieved By Reappraising Things Unnatural, Tame, And Confined In Terms Of Things Natural, Wild, And Free.