Existing comment:
"... my father would send us to fetch the cows from the back pasture a long walk to a far off place it seemed for boys so young. Lost again for a moment in that simple place, I fling apples from a stick and look for snakes in the gullies. There is a music to the past, the sweet tones of perfect octaves even though we know it was never so."
-- Robert Kinsley (American poet) |