Illuminated By The Same Joyful Curiosity And

Amazingly, We Take For Granted That Instinct For Survival, Fear Of Death, Must Separate Us From The Happiness Of Pure And Uninterpreted Experience, In Which Body, Mind, And Nature Are The Same. This Retreat From Wonder, The Backing Away Like Lobsters Into Safe Crannies, The Desperate Instinct That Our Life Passes Unlived, Is Reflected In Proliferation Without Joy, Corrosive Money Rot, The Gross Befouling Of The Earth And Air And Water From Which We Came.

Illuminated By The Same Joyful Curiosity And Erudition, Lyric Writing, And Plain Love Of Life That Made A Classic Of Archie Carr's The Windward Road.

I Think In Any Writing You're Paying Attention To Detail.

Figures Dark Beneath Their Loads Pass Down The Far Bank Of The River, Rendered Immortal By The Streak Of Sunset Upon Their Shoulders

When I'm In The Field, When I'm Working, I Keep Very Careful Notes. I Wear Big Shirts With Big Breast Pockets, And I Carry In Them Two Little Spiral Notebooks.