Now He Understood. This Was Death. Death

We Cannot Live Without The Earth Or Apart From It, And Something Is Shrivelled In A Man's Heart When He Turns Away From It And Concerns Himself Only With The Affairs Of Men

Cross Creek Belongs To The Wind And The Rain, To The Sun And The Seasons, To The Cosmic Secrecy Of Seed, And Beyond All, To Time.

I Had Done Battle With A Great Fear And The Victory Was Mine.

A Dead Tree, Falling, Made Less Havoc Than A Live One. It Seemed As Though A Live Tree Went Down Fighting, Like An Animal.

For Myself, The Creek Satisfies A Thing That Had Gone Hungry And Unfed Since Childhood Days. I Am Often Lonely. Who Is Not? But I Should Be Lonelier In The Heart Of A City.