All walking is discovery. On foot we take the time to see things whole.

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.

The owl, that bird of onomatopoetic name, is a repetitious question wrapped in feathery insulation especially for Winter delivery.

March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice.

All our yesterdays are summarized in our now, and all the tomorrows are ours to shape.

Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.

October is the fallen leaf, but it is also a wider horizon more clearly seen. It is the distant hills once more in sight, and the enduring constellations above them once again.