Year's End, All Corners Of This Floating

Spring Rain Conveyed Under The Trees In Drops.

The Desire To Break The Silence With Constant Human Noise Is, I Believe, Precisely An Avoidance Of The Sacred Terror Of That Divine Encounter.

Just Washed, How Chill The White Leeks!

Twilight Whippoorwill... Whistle On, Sweet Deepener Of Dark Loneliness

There Is Nothing You Can See That Is Not A Flower; There Is Nothing You Can Think That Is Not The Moon.