My Bag Was As Light As My

It's Risky To Talk About One's Most Secret Dreams A Bit Too Early.

It's A Funny Thing About Bogs. You Can Fill Them With Rocks And Sand And Old Logs And Make A Little Fenced-in Yard On Top With A Woodpile And Chopping Block - But Bogs Go Right On Behaving Like Bogs. Early In The Spring They Breathe Ice And Make Their Own Mist, In Remembrance Of The Time When They Had Black Water And Their Own Sedge Blossoming Untouched.

One Makes A Trip By Day, But By Night One Sets Out On A Journey.

Lie On The Bridge And Watch The Water Flowing Past. Or Run, Or Wade Through The Swamp In Your Red Boots. Or Roll Yourself Up And Listen To The Rain Falling On The Roof. It's Very Easy To Enjoy Yourself.

But That's How It Is When You Start Wanting To Have Things. Now, I Just Look At Them, And When I Go Away I Carry Them In My Head. Then My Hands Are Always Free, Because I Don't Have To Carry A Suitcase.