The Outstanding Event Was The Doing Which

Writing Is A Splendid Sorter Of... Feelings, Better Even Than Paint.

My Mountain Is Dead. As Soon As She Has Dried, I'll Bury Her Under A Decent Layer Of White Paint. But I Haven't Done With The Old Lady; Far From It!

As The Woods Are The Same, The Trees Standing In Their Places, The Rocks And The Earth... They Are Always Different Too, As Lights And Shadows And Seasons And Moods Pass Through Them.

Oh, The Glory Of Growth, Silent, Mighty, Persistent, Inevitable! To Awaken, To Open Up Like A Flower To The Light Of A Fuller Consciousness!

What A Splendid Time Woo Must Have Had.