If Two People Are In Love They

Summer Is When We Believe, All Of A Sudden, That If We Just Walked Out The Back Door And Kept On Going Long Enough And Far Enough We Would Reach The Rocky Mountains.

Black Bears, Though, Are Not Fearsome. I Encountered One On The Road To My House In Vermont, Alone At Night. I Picked Up Two Stones Just In Case, But I Wasn't Afraid Of Him. I Felt A Hunter's Exhilaration And A Brotherly Feeling.

There Is A Time Of Life Somewhere Between The Sullen Fugues Of Adolescence And The Retrenchments Of Middle Age When Human Nature Becomes So Absolutely Absorbing One Wants To Be In The City Constantly, Even At The Height Of Summer.

Poetry Is Engendered In Solitude, So What Better Meter For It Than The Clip Of A Buckskin Horse?

Animals Used To Provide A Lowlife Way To Kill And Get Away With It, As They Do Still, But, More Intriguingly, For Some People They Are An Aperture Through Which Wounds Drain. The Scapegoat Of Olden Times, Driven Off For The Bystanders Sins, Has Become A Tender Thing, A Running Injury. There, Running Away Is Me: Hurt It And You Are Hurting Me.