My Eye Is Fixed Not

There's An Elegiac Quality In Watching [american Wilderness] Go, Because It's Our Own Myth, The American Frontier, That's Deteriorating Before Our Eyes. I Feel A Deep Sorrow That My Kids Will Never Get To See What I've Seen, And Their Kids Will See Nothing; There's A Deep Sadness Whenever I Look At Nature Now.

In This Very Breath That We Take Now Lies The Secret That All Great Teachers Try To Tell Us.

In The Clearness Of This Himalayan Air, Mountains Draw Near, And In Such Splendor, Tears Come Quietly To My Eyes And Cool On My Sunburned Cheeks. This Is Not Mere Soft-mindedness, Nor Am I All That Silly With The Altitude. My Head Has Cleared In These Weeks Free Of Intrusions- Mail, Telephones, People And Their Needs- And I Respond To Things Spontaneously, Without Defensive Or Self-conscious Screens. Still, All This Feeling Is Astonishing: Not So Long Ago I Could Say Truthfully That I Had Not Shed A Tear In Twenty Years.

It Is Said In Java That The Tiger's Hearing Is So Acute That Hunters Must Keep Their Nose Hairs Cut Lest The Tiger Hear The Breath Whistle Through Their Nostrils.

Figures Dark Beneath Their Loads Pass Down The Far Bank Of The River, Rendered Immortal By The Streak Of Sunset Upon Their Shoulders