Once In His Life A Man Ought

It's A Landscape That Has To Be Seen To Be Believed. And, As I Say On Occasion, It May Have To Be Believed In Order To Be Seen.

To Look Upon That Landscape In The Early Morning, With The Sun At Your Back, Is To Lose The Sense Of Proportion.

Indians Are Marvelous Storytellers. In Some Ways, That Oral Tradition Is Stronger Than The Written Tradition.

Once In His Life, A Man Ought To Concentrate His Mind Upon The Remembered Earth, I Believe. He Ought To Give Himself Up To A Particular Landscape In His Experience, To Look At It From As Many Angles As He Can, To Wonder About It, To Dwell Upon It. He Ought To Imagine That He Touches It With His Hands At Every Season And Listens To The Sounds That Are Made Upon It. He Ought To Imagine The Creatures There And All The Faintest Motions Of The Wind. He Ought To Recollect The Glare Of Noon And All The Colors Of The Dawn And Dusk.

A Word Has Power In And Of Itself. It Comes From Nothing Into Sound And Meaning; It Gives Origin To All Things.