Most Of The People Are Homesick Anyway,

My Bag Was As Light As My Happy-go-lucky Heart.

He Was The Owner Of The Moonlight On The Ground, He Fell In Love With The Most Beautiful Of The Trees, He Made Wreaths Of Leaves And Strung Them Around His Neck.

Grandmother Walked Up Over The Bare Granite And Thought About Birds In General. It Seemed To Her No Other Creature Had The Same Dramatic Capacity To Underline And Perfect Events - The Shifts In The Seasons And The Weather, The Changes That Run Through People Themselves.

He Didn't Remember, He Didn't Worry, He Just Was.

She Started Thinking About All The Euphemisms For Death, All The Anxious Taboos That Had Always Fascinated Her. It Was Too Bad You Could Never Have An Intelligent Discussion On The Subject. People Were Either Too Young Or Too Old, Or Else They Didn't Have Time.