There Is Time Not Only To See

Acts Of Creation Are Ordinarily Reserved For Gods And Poets, But Humbler Folk May Circumvent This Restriction If They Know How. To Plant A Pine, For Example, One Need Be Neither God Nor Poet; One Need Only Own A Shovel. By Virtue Of This Curious Loophole In The Rules, Any Clodhopper May Say: Let There Be A Tree - And There Will Be One.

Your Woodlot Is, In Fact, An Historical Document Which Faithfully Records Your Personal Philosophy.

On Motionless Wing They Emerge From The Lifting Mists, Sweep A Final Arc Of Sky, And Settle In Clangorous Descending Spirals To Their Feeding Grounds. A New Day Has Begun On The Crane Marsh.

The Road To Conservation Is Paved With Good Intentions That Often Prove Futile, Or Even Dangerous, Due To A Lack Of Understanding Of Either Land Or Economic Land Use.

The Wind That Makes Music In November Corn Is In A Hurry. The Stalks Hum, The Loose Husks Whisk Skyward In Half-playing Swirls, And The Wind Hurries On.... A Tree Tries To Argue, Bare Limbs Waving, But There Is No Detaining The Wind.