When We Admit Our Vulnerability,

There Is A Wilder Solitude In Winter When Every Sense Is Pricked Alive And Keen.

I Can Tell You That Solitude Is Not All Exaltation, Inner Space Where The Soul Breathes And Work Can Be Done. Solitude Exposes The Nerve, Raises Up Ghosts. The Past, Never At Rest, Flows Through It.

Gardening Is An Instrument Of Grace.

The Garden Is Growth And Change And That Means Loss As Well As Constant New Treasures To Make Up For A Few Disasters.

We Have To Believe That Every Person Counts, Counts As A Creative Force That Can Move Mountains.