I Think Rain Is As

How Beautiful The Leaves Grow Old. How Full Of Light And Color Are Their Last Days.

The Lure Of The Distant And The Difficult Is Deceptive. The Great Opportunity Is Where You Are.

One Can Return To Their Place Of Birth, But One Cannot Go Back To Your Youth.

The Sunbeams Are Welcome Now. They Seem Like Pure Electricity—like Friendly And Recuperating Lightning. Are We Led To Think Electricity Abounds Only In Summer, When We See In The Storm-clouds As It Were, The Veins And Ore-beds Of It? I Imagine It Is Equally Abundant In Winter, And More Equable And Better Tempered. Who Ever Breasted A Snowstorm Without Being Excited And Exhilarated, As If This Meteor Had Come Charged With Latent Auroræ Of The North, As Doubtless It Has? It Is Like Being Pelted With Sparks From A Battery.

Science Sees The Process Of Evolution From The Outside, As One Might A Train Of Cars Going By, And Resolves It Into The Physical And Mechanical Elements, Without Getting Any Nearer The Reason Of Its Going By, Or The Point Of Its Departure Or Destination.