It Is Here That I Can Concentrate

If You Believe In The Power Of Words, You Can Bring About Physical Changes In The Universe.

The Character Of The Landscape Changes From Hour To Hour, Day To Day, Season To Season. Nothing Of The Earth Can Be Taken For Granted; You Feel That Creation Is Going On In Your Sight. You See Things In The High Air That You Do Not See Farther Down In The Lowlands. In The High Country All Objects Bear Upon You, And You Touch Hard Upon The Earth. From My Home I Can See The Huge, Billowing Clouds; They Draw Close Upon Me And Merge With My Life.

Once In His Life, A Man Ought To Concentrate His Mind Upon The Remembered Earth, I Believe. He Ought To Give Himself Up To A Particular Landscape In His Experience, To Look At It From As Many Angles As He Can, To Wonder About It, To Dwell Upon It. He Ought To Imagine That He Touches It With His Hands At Every Season And Listens To The Sounds That Are Made Upon It. He Ought To Imagine The Creatures There And All The Faintest Motions Of The Wind. He Ought To Recollect The Glare Of Noon And All The Colors Of The Dawn And Dusk.

My Father Was A Painter And He Taught Art. He Once Said To Me, 'i Never Knew An Indian Child Who Could Not Draw.'

The Kiowas Reckoned Their Stature By The Distance They Could See.