Tomorrow Lurks In Us, The Latency To

Choices, More Choices Than We Like Afterward To Believe, Are Made Far Backward In The Innocence Of Childhood.

Out Of The Choked Devonian Waters Emerged Sight And Sound And The Music That Rolls Invisible Through The Composer's Brain. They Are There Still In The Ooze Along The Tideline, Though No One Notices. The World Is Fixed, We Say: Fish In The Sea, Birds In The Air. But In The Mangrove Swamps By The Niger, Fish Climb Trees And Ogle Uneasy Naturalists Who Try Unsuccessfully To Chase Them Back To The Water. There Are Things Still Coming Ashore.

The Iron Did Not Remember The Blood It Had Once Moved Within, The Phosphorous Had Forgot The Savage Brain.

Animals Are Molded By Natural Forces They Do Not Comprehend. To Their Minds There Is No Past And No Future. There Is Only The Everlasting Present Of A Single Generation, Its Trails In The Forest, Its Hidden Pathways In The The Air And In The Sea. There Is Nothing In The Universe More Alone Than Man. He Has Entered Into The Strange World Of History.

Life, Unlike The Inanimate, Will Take The Long Way Round To Circumvent Barrenness. A Kind Of Desperate Will Resides Even In A Root.