Rhythm Is One Of The

Why Should I Not Sit, Every Morning Of My Life, On The Hillside, Looking Into The Shining World?

Along With The Differences That Abide In Each Of Us, There Is Also In Each Of Us A Maverick, The Darling Stubborn One Who Won't Listen, Who Insists, Who Chooses Preference Or The Spirited Guess Over Yardsticks Or Even History. I Suspect This Maverick Is Somewhat What The Soul Is, Or At Least That The Soul Lives Close By And Companionably With Its Agitating And Inquiring Force.

Wild Sings The Bird Of The Heart In The Forests Of Our Lives.

Today Again I Am Hardly Myself. It Happens Over And Over.

When It's Over I Don't Want To Wonder If I Have Made Of My Life Something Particular, And Real.