Strip The Hills, Drain The Boglands, And

There It Is, Fog, Atmospheric Moisture Still Uncertain In Destination, Not Quite Weather And Not Altogether Mood, Yet Partaking Of Both.

When We Talk Of Flood Control, We Usually Think Of Dams And Deeper River Channels, To Impound The Waters Or Hurry Their Run-off. Yet Neither Is The Ultimate Solution, Simply Because Floods Are Caused By The Flow Of Water Downhill. If The Hills Are Wooded, That Flow Is Checked. If There Is A Swamp At The Foot Of The Hills, The Swamp Sponges Up Most Of The Excess Water, Restores Some Of It To The Underground Water Supply And Feeds The Remainder Slowly Into The Streams. Strip The Hills, Drain The Boglands, And You Create Flood Conditions Inevitably. Yet That Is What We Have Been Doing For Years.

To See A Hillside White With Dogwood Bloom Is To Know A Particular Ecstasy Of Beauty, But To Walk The Gray Winter Woods And Find The Buds Which Will Resurrect That Beauty In Another May Is To Partake Of Continuity.

Autumn Is The Eternal Corrective. It Is Ripeness And Color And A Time Of Maturity; But It Is Also Breadth, And Depth, And Distance. What Man Can Stand With Autumn On A Hilltop And Fail To See The Span Of His World And The Meaning Of The Rolling Hills That Reach To The Far Horizon?

To Know After Absence The Familiar Street And Road And Village And House Is To Know Again The Satisfaction Of Home.