The Leaves Fall, The Wind Blows, And

When The Pleiades And The Wind In The Grass Are No Longer A Part Of The Human Spirit, A Part Of Very Flesh And Bone, Man Becomes, As It Were, A Kind Of Cosmic Outlaw, Having Neither The Completeness Nor Integrity Of The Animal Nor The Birthright Of A True Humanity.

Our Civilization Has Fallen Out Of Touch With Night. With Lights, We Drive The Holiness And Beauty Of Night Back To The Forests And The Sea; The Little Villages, The Crossroads Even, Will Have None Of It. Are Modern Folk, Perhaps, Afraid Of Night? Do They Fear That Vast Serenity, The Mystery Of Infinite Space, The Austerity Of Stars?

We Of The Age Of The Machines, Having Delivered Ourselves Of Nocturnal Enemies, Now Have A Dislike Of Night Itself. With Lights And Ever More Lights, We Drive The Holiness And Beauty Of Night Back To The Forests And The Sea.

We Need Another And A Wiser And A Perhaps More Mystical Concept Of Animals.

The Leaves Fall, The Wind Blows, And The Farm Country Slowly Changes From The Summer Cottons Into Its Winter Woods.