Year's End Is Neither An End Nor

To See A Hillside White With Dogwood Bloom Is To Know A Particular Ecstasy Of Beauty, But To Walk The Gray Winter Woods And Find The Buds Which Will Resurrect That Beauty In Another May Is To Partake Of Continuity.

Here And There One Sees The Blush Of Wild Rose Haws Or The Warmth Of Orange Fruit On The Bittersweet, And Back In The Woods Is The Occasional Twinkle Of Partridgeberries. But They Are The Gem Stones, The Rare Decorations Which Make The Grays, The Browns And The Greens Seem Even More Quiet, More Completely At Rest.

The Earth Turns, And The Seasons, And For All His Pride And Power Man Cannot Temper The Winds Or Change Their Course. They Are The Unseen Tides That Shape Our Days And Our Years.

If The Voice Of The Brook Was Not The First Song Of Celebration, It Must Have Been At Least An Obbligato For That Event.

All Walking Is Discovery. On Foot We Take The Time To See Things Whole.