I Believe In A Kind

This Hill Crossed With Broken Pines And Maples Lumpy With The Burial Mounds Of Uprooted Hemlocks (hurricane Of '38) Out Of Their Rotting Hearts Generations Rise Trying Once More To Become The Forest Just Beyond Them Tall Enough To Be Called Trees In Their Youth Like Aspen A Bouquet Of Young Beech Is Gathered They Still Wear Last Summer's Leaves The Lightest Brown Almost Translucent How Their Stubbornness Has Decorated The Winter Woods.

I Often See Through Things Right To The Apparition Itself.

There Is A Long Time In Me Between Knowing And Telling.

In The End, Long Life Is The Reward, Strength, And Beauty.

Paul Goodman Was Not Ahead Of His Time But In His Time.