O Love, Where Are You Leading Me

Form Is Never More Than An Extension Of Content.

There Are A Lot Of Editorials That Have Nothing To Do With Anything Like That. But I Was Just Thinking Of That Sense Of Prose As Being Very Responsible And Perceptive, Thoughtful, Intimate, And Contriving A Quote Statement.

It Is Hard Going To The Door Cut So Small In The Wall Where The Vision Which Echoes Loneliness Brings A Scent Of Wild Flowers In The Wood.

I Did However Used To Think, You Know, In The Woods Walking, And As A Kid Playing In The Woods, That There Was A Kind Of Immanence There — That Woods, And Places Of That Order, Had A Sense, A Kind Of Presence, That You Could Feel; That There Was Something Peculiarly, Physically Present, A Feeling Of Place Almost Conscious ... Like God. It Evoked That.

Hopefully, I Write What I Don't Know.