Whenever I Prepare For A Journey I

It's Rather Nice To Think Of Oneself As A Sailor Bending Over The Map Of One's Mind And Deciding Where To Go And How To Go. The Great Thing To Remember Is We Can Do Whatever We Wish To Do Provided Our Wish Is Strong Enough.

I Think Of You Often. Especially In The Evenings, When I Am On The Balcony And It’s Too Dark To Write Or To Do Anything But Wait For The Stars. A Time I Love. One Feels Half Disembodied, Sitting Like A Shadow At The Door Of One’s Being While The Dark Tide Rises. Then Comes The Moon, Marvellously Serene, And Small Stars, Very Merry For Some Reason Of Their Own. It Is So Easy To Forget, In A Worldly Life, To Attend To These Miracles.

If Only One Could Tell True Love From False Love As One Can Tell Mushrooms From Toadstools.

I Want So To Live That I Work With My Hands And My Feeling And My Brain. I Want A Garden, A Small House, Grass, Animals, Books, Pictures, Music. And Out Of This, The Expression Of This, I Want To Be Writing (though I May Write About Cabmen. That’s No Matter.) But Warm, Eager, Living Life — To Be Rooted In Life — To Learn, To Desire, To Feel, To Think, To Act. This Is What I Want. And Nothing Less. That Is What I Must Try For.

No, No The Mind I Love Must Still Have Wild Places - A Tangled Orchard Where Dark Damsons Drop In The Heavy Grass, An Overgrown Litde Wood, The Chance Of A Snake Or Two (real Snakes), A Pool That Nobody's Fathomed The Depth Of, And Paths Threaded With Those Litde Flowers Planted By The Wind.