I Will Go To The

The Pattern Of The Narrative Never Of Necessity Wants To End, It Never Has To.

It Is Hard Going To The Door Cut So Small In The Wall Where The Vision Which Echoes Loneliness Brings A Scent Of Wild Flowers In The Wood.

I Did However Used To Think, You Know, In The Woods Walking, And As A Kid Playing In The Woods, That There Was A Kind Of Immanence There — That Woods, And Places Of That Order, Had A Sense, A Kind Of Presence, That You Could Feel; That There Was Something Peculiarly, Physically Present, A Feeling Of Place Almost Conscious ... Like God. It Evoked That.

There Are A Lot Of Editorials That Have Nothing To Do With Anything Like That. But I Was Just Thinking Of That Sense Of Prose As Being Very Responsible And Perceptive, Thoughtful, Intimate, And Contriving A Quote Statement.

Form Is Never More Than An Extension Of Content.