The First Law Of Intelligent Tinkering Is

Acts Of Creation Are Ordinarily Reserved For Gods And Poets, But Humbler Folk May Circumvent This Restriction If They Know How. To Plant A Pine, For Example, One Need Be Neither God Nor Poet; One Need Only Own A Shovel. By Virtue Of This Curious Loophole In The Rules, Any Clodhopper May Say: Let There Be A Tree - And There Will Be One.

There Are Degrees And Kinds Of Solitude. I Know Of No Solitude So Secure As One Guarded By A Spring Flood; Nor Do The Geese, Who Have Seen More Kinds And Degrees Of Aloneness Than I Have.

The Worthiness Of Any Cause Is Not Measured By Its Clean Record, But By Its Readiness To See The Blots When They Are Pointed Out, And To Change Its Mind.

I Have Read Many Definitions Of What Is A Conservationist, And Written Not A Few Myself, But I Suspect That The Best One Is Written Not With A Pen, But With An Axe. It Is A Matter Of What A Man Thinks About While Chopping, Or While Deciding What To Chop. A Conservationist Is One Who Is Humbly Aware That With Each Stroke He Is Writing His Signature On The Face Of His Land.

The Wind That Makes Music In November Corn Is In A Hurry. The Stalks Hum, The Loose Husks Whisk Skyward In Half-playing Swirls, And The Wind Hurries On.... A Tree Tries To Argue, Bare Limbs Waving, But There Is No Detaining The Wind.