The Land Gets Inside Of Us; And

The Writer Works On The Inside And The Critic Works On The Outside. I Don't Know What It Looks Like On The Outside, Sometimes. It's Not That I'm Not Interested-it's Not Where I Live. I Live Inside The Story.

The Interior Landscape Responds To The Character And Subtlety Of The Exterior Landscape; The Shape Of The Individual Mind Is Affected By The Land As It Is By Genes.

I Know Of No Restorative Of Heart, Body, And Soul More Effective Against Hopelessness Than The Restoration Of The Earth.

You Continue To Live Them Out, Making Your Life A Worthy Expression Of Leaning Into The Light.

Would The Last Animal, Eating Garbage And Living On The Last Scrap Of Land, His Mate Dead, Would He Still Forgive You?