“Doom scenarios, even though they might be true, are not politically or psychologically effective. The first step . . . is to make us love the world rather than to make us fear for the end of the world.”

They say that when a goose flies south it holds a twig in its beak to keep from making a sound the hunters might hear.

The tide covers, discovers, recovers, and always walks in the nude.

The tide weaves and unweaves, embraces and separates, is never the same and 
never another.

The tide, sculptor of forms that last as long as their surge.

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There is an uncertain territory
between night and day.
It is neither light nor shadow:

I am not at the crest of the world.
                                                      The moment 
is not the stylite’s pillar,

“The bee has no time for sorrow”