You Must Go On A Long Journey

Sophia And Grandmother Sat Down By The Shore To Discuss The Matter Further. It Was A Pretty Day, And The Sea Was Running A Long, Windless Swell. It Was On Days Just Like This--dog Days--that Boats Went Sailing Off All By Themselves. Large, Alien Objects Made Their Way In From Sea, Certain Things Sank And Others Rose, Milk Soured, And Dragonflies Danced In Desperation. Lizards Were Not Afraid. When The Moon Came Up, Red Spiders Mated On Uninhabited Skerries, Where The Rock Became An Unbroken Carpet Of Tiny, Ecstatic Spiders.

I Love Borders. August Is The Border Between Summer And Autumn; It Is The Most Beautiful Month I Know.

Lie On The Bridge And Watch The Water Flowing Past. Or Run, Or Wade Through The Swamp In Your Red Boots. Or Roll Yourself Up And Listen To The Rain Falling On The Roof. It's Very Easy To Enjoy Yourself.

It's A Funny Thing About Bogs. You Can Fill Them With Rocks And Sand And Old Logs And Make A Little Fenced-in Yard On Top With A Woodpile And Chopping Block - But Bogs Go Right On Behaving Like Bogs. Early In The Spring They Breathe Ice And Make Their Own Mist, In Remembrance Of The Time When They Had Black Water And Their Own Sedge Blossoming Untouched.

You Must Go On A Long Journey Before You Can Really Find Out How Wonderful Home Is.