I Wonder Why We Are Always Sort

The Artist Himself May Not Think He Is Religious, But If He Is Sincere His Sincerity In Itself Is Religion.

Go Out There Into The Glory Of The Woods. See God In Every Particle Of Them Expressing Glory And Strength And Power, Tenderness And Protection. Know That They Are God Expressing God Made Manifest.

Cedars Are Terribly Sensitive To Change Of Time And Light - Sometimes They Are Bluish Cold-green, Then They Turn Yellow Warm-green - Sometimes Their Boughs Flop Heavy And Sometimes Float, Then They Are Fairy As Ferns And Then They Droop, Heavy As Heartaches.

There Is A Need To Go Deeper, To Let Myself Go Completely, To Enter Into The Surroundings In The Real Fellowship Of Oneness, To Lift Above The Outer Shell, Out Into The Depth And Wideness Where God Is The Recognized Centre And Everything Is In Time With Everything, And The Key-note Is God.

The House Begins To Be A Home. The Unfamiliar Places Are Beginning To Fold The Familiar Objects Into Their Keeping And To Cozy Them Down. Objects That Swore At Each Other When The Movers Heaved Them Into The New Rooms Have Subsided Into Corners And Sit To Lick Their Feet And Wash Their Faces Like Cats Accepting A New Home.