A Frontier Is Never A Place; It

Man Is Wise And Constantly In Quest Of More Wisdom; But The Ultimate Wisdom, Which Deals With Beginnings, Remains Locked In A Seed.

Strip The Hills, Drain The Boglands, And You Create Flood Conditions Inevitably. Yet That Is What We Have Been Doing For Years.

You Fight Dandelions All Weekend, And Late Monday Afternoon There They Are, Pert As All Get Out, In Full And Gorgeous Bloom, Pretty As Can Be, Thriving As Only Dandelions Can In The Face Of Adversity.

Summer Ends, And Autumn Comes, And He Who Would Have It Otherwise Would Have High Tide Always And A Full Moon Every Night.

Two Sounds Of Autumn Are Unmistakable...the Hurrying Rustle Of Crisp Leaves Blown Along The Street...by A Gusty Wind, And The Gabble Of A Flock Of Migrating Geese.