What A Splendid Time Woo Must Have

You Come Into The World Alone And You Go Out Of The World Alone Yet It Seems To Me You Are More Alone While Living Than Even Going And Coming.

The Liveness In Me Just Loves To Feel The Liveness In Growing Things, In Grass And Rain And Leaves And Flowers And Sun And Feathers And Furs And Earth And Sand And Moss.

Sometimes I Could Quit Paint And Take To Charring. It Must Be Fine To Clean Perfectly, To Shine And Polish And Know That It Could Not Be Done Better. In Painting That Never Occurs.

The House Begins To Be A Home. The Unfamiliar Places Are Beginning To Fold The Familiar Objects Into Their Keeping And To Cozy Them Down. Objects That Swore At Each Other When The Movers Heaved Them Into The New Rooms Have Subsided Into Corners And Sit To Lick Their Feet And Wash Their Faces Like Cats Accepting A New Home.

The Earth Is Soaked And Soggy With Rain. Everything Is Drinking Its Fill And The Surplus Gluts The Drains. The Sky Is Full Of It And Lies Low Over The Earth, Heavy And Dense. Even The Sea Is Wetter Than Usual!