A Snowdrift Is A Beautiful

Some People Are Like Ants. Give Them A Warm Day And A Piece Of Ground And They Start Digging. There The Similarity Ends. Ants Keepon Digging. Most People Don't. They Establish Contact With The Soil, Absorb So Much Vernal Vigor That They Can't Stay In One Place, And Desert The Fork Or Spade To See How The Rhubarb Is Coming And Whether The Asparagus Is Yet In Sight.

The Longer I Live And The More I Read, The More Certain I Become That The Real Poems About Spring Aren't Written On Paper. They Are Written In The Back Pasture And The Near Meadow, And They Are Issued In A New Revised Edition Every April.

To See A Hillside White With Dogwood Bloom Is To Know A Particular Ecstasy Of Beauty, But To Walk The Gray Winter Woods And Find The Buds Which Will Resurrect That Beauty In Another May Is To Partake Of Continuity.

Summer Ends, And Autumn Comes, And He Who Would Have It Otherwise Would Have High Tide Always And A Full Moon Every Night.

Of All The Everyday Plants Of The Earth, Grass Is The Least Pretentious And The Most Important To Mankind. It Clothes The Earth Is An Unmistakable Way. Directly Or Indirectly It Provides The Bulk Of Man's Food, His Meat, His Bread, Every Scrap Of His Cereal Diet. Without Grass We Would All Starve, We And All Our Animals. And What A Dismal Place This World Would Be!