The First Word Gives Origin To The

Your Imagination Comes To Life, And This, You Think, Is Where Creation Was Begun.

I Am Interested In The Way That We Look At A Given Landscape And Take Possession Of It In Our Blood And Brain. None Of Us Lives Apart From The Land Entirely; Such An Isolation Is Unimaginable. If We Are To Realize And Maintain Our Humanity, We Must Come To A Moral Comprehension Of Earth And Air As It Is Perceived In The Long Turn Of Seasons And Of Years.

Writing Engenders In Us Certain Attitudes Toward Language. It Encourages Us To Take Words For Granted. Writing Has Enabled Us To Store Vast Quantities Of Words Indefinitely. This Is Advantageous On The One Hand But Dangerous On The Other. The Result Is That We Have Developed A Kind Of False Security Where Language Is Concerned, And Our Sensitivity To Language Has Deteriorated. And We Have Become In Proportion Insensitive To Silence.

I Wonder If, In The Dark Night Of The Sea, The Octopus Dreams Of Me.

It Is Here That I Can Concentrate My Mind Upon The Remembered Earth. It Is Here That I Am Most Conscious Of Being, Here That Wonder Comes Upon My Blood, Here I Want To Live Forever; And It Is No Matter That I Must Die.