One Could Go On Revising A Prose

It Is Possible, I Suppose, That We Are Returning To A Dark Age. What Is Frightening Is That Violence Is Not Only Represented By Nations, But Everywhere Walks Among Us Freely.

Gardening Is A Madness, A Folly That Does Not Go Away With Age. Quite The Contrary.

Mountains Define You. You Cannot Define / Them.

Flowers And Plants Are Silent Presences. They Nourish Every Sense Except The Ear.

I Asked Myself The Question, 'what Do You Want Of Your Life?' And I Realized With A Start Of Recognition And Terror, 'exactly What I Have - But To Be Commensurate, To Handle It All Better.