For the mind disturbed, the still beauty of dawn is nature's finest balm.

The city man, in his neon-and-mazda glare, knows nothing of nature's midnight. His electric lamps surround him with synthetic sunshine. They push back the dark. They defend him from the realities of the age-old night.

I see, when I bend close, how each leaflet of a climbing rose is bordered with frost, the autumn counterpart of the dewdrops of summer dawns. The feathery leaves of yarrow are thick with silver rime and dry thistle heads rise like goblets plated with silver catching the sun.

The long fight to save wild beauty represents democracy at its best. It requires citizens to practice the hardest of virtues - self-restraint.

To those whom the tree, the birds, the wildflowers represent only "locked-up dollars" have never known or really seen these things.

The difference between utility and utility plus beauty is the difference between telephone wires and the spider web.

For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.