““Wind now Sweeping over my Bare Back I wish I could wrap up the glitter star-green of this moment and hand it to you like an angel gift. Give you the heat lightning flying in jagged silence over the distant mountains. And the smell of September prairie grass and the even fainter scent of October pine now descending . . . Give you the invisible sage wind whisking past your cheeks. And the cricket quartets and frog symphonies that play near the creek’s edge. To collect these sensations like a scientist of the soul and give them to you in their finest hour of coincidence and destiny.””
