I Want To Be All

Wind Moving Through Grass So That The Grass Quivers. This Moves Me With An Emotion I Don't Even Understand.

Letters Are The Real Curse Of My Existence. I Hate To Write Them: I Have To. If I Don't, There They Are - The Great Guilty Gates Barring My Way.

I Love The Evening Star. Does That Sound Foolish? I Used To Go Into The Backyard, After Sunset, And Wait For It Until It Shone Above The Dark Gum Tree. I Used To Whisper 'there You Are, My Darling.' And Just In That First Moment It Seemed To Be Shining For Me Alone. It Seemed To Understand This ... Something Which Is Like Longing, And Yet It Is Not Longing. Or Regret - It Is More Like Regret.

Every Time One Leaves Anywhere, Something Precious, Which Ought Not To Be Killed, Is Left To Die.

I Love This Place; I Love Mountains And Big Skies And Forests. And The Weather Is Still Supremely Beautiful Even Though The Lower Peaks Are Powdered With Fresh Snow. But Heavens! What Sun. It Never Has An Ending. I Am Basking At This Minute - Half Past Four - Too Hot Without A Hat, & The Sky Is That Transparent Blue Only To Be Seen In Autumn - The Forest Trees Steeped In Light.