The hand is the cutting edge of the mind.
Jacob Bronowski, The Ascent of Man
Dear friends,
Seventy-nine days to the end of the year. Somehow that sounds like a lot fewer days than the hundred with which we began three weeks ago. No doubt it is the multiplying number of questions that seem to spring up, Hydra-like, from every question answered.
But there is no peace from questions like the autumn woods. Last week Garland Wood and I visited the land, examined the building site, and scouted for trees. It was a beautiful, warm day in early fall. The ground was already thick with leaves, though the canopy above showed little sign of thinning toward winter. The music of the woods at this time of year is set in a minor key, yet there is an inexpressible lightness of being in that music. "In the woods we return to reason and faith," as Mr. Emerson said.