May our trails be crooked, winding, lonesome,
dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.
May our rivers flow without end,
meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells,
past temples and castles and poets’ towers.
May we travel into the deep vast unknown
where something strange and more beautiful
and more full of wonder than our deepest dreams waits for us –
beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.
May it be so.
— adapted from words by Edward Abbey
When I came to the Creek, and knew the old grove and farmhouse at once as home, there was some terror, such as one feels in the first recognition of a human love, for the joining of person to place, as of person to person, is a commitment to shared sorrow, even as to shared joy.
— Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
The morrow was a bright September morn;
The earth was beautiful as if newborn;
There was nameless splendor everywhere,
That wild exhilaration in the air,
Which makes the passers in the city street
Congratulate each other as they meet.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, American poet
It seems no bad thing to have a soul of yellow daffodils in lines across a hilltop.
— Sue Hubbell, A Book of Bees