It Is Impossible To Be Among The

Somewhere Beyond The Sink-hole, Past The Magnolia, Under The Live Oaks, A Boy And A Yearling Ran Side By Side, And Were Gone Forever.

Cross Creek Belongs To The Wind And The Rain, To The Sun And The Seasons, To The Cosmic Secrecy Of Seed, And Beyond All, To Time.

The Inferred Is Always More Effective Than The Obvious.

Now, Having Left Cities Behind Me, Turned Away Forever From The Strange, Gregarious Huddling Of Men By Stones, I Find Those Various Great Towns I Knew Fused Into One, Burned Together In The Fire Of My Despising.

She Lives A Sophisticate's Life Among Worldly People. At The Slightest Excuse She Steps Out Of Civilization, Naked And Relieved, As I Should Step Out Of A Soiled Chemise.