Loneliness Is An Aspect Of The Land.

The First Word Gives Origin To The Second, The First And Second To The Third, And The Third To The Fourth, And So On. You Cannot Begin With The Second Word.

There Is A Great Good In Returning To A Landscape That Has Had Extraordinary Meaning In One's Life. It Happens That We Return To Such Places In Our Minds Irresistibly. There Are Certain Villages And Towns, Mountains And Plains That, Having Seen Them Walked In Them Lived In Them Even For A Day, We Keep Forever In The Mind's Eye. They Become Indispensable To Our Well-being; They Define Us, And We Say, I Am Who I Am Because I Have Been There, Or There.

I Am Interested In The Way That We Look At A Given Landscape And Take Possession Of It In Our Blood And Brain. None Of Us Lives Apart From The Land Entirely; Such An Isolation Is Unimaginable. If We Are To Realize And Maintain Our Humanity, We Must Come To A Moral Comprehension Of Earth And Air As It Is Perceived In The Long Turn Of Seasons And Of Years.

There Was Only The Dark Infinity In Which Nothing Was. And Something Happened. At The Distance Of A Star Something Happened, And Everything Began. The Word Did Not Come Into Being, But It Was. It Did Not Break Upon The Silence, But It Was Older Than The Silence And The Silence Was Made Of It.

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