It was there and I found it. 
        Possibly I was meant to. 
        When I came, the 1st time, the day was aging, the summer old, hearts and thoughts were caging or fainted to do so such was the clotting fragrance of Earth's dust and the soft slivers of the wood rails gray with duty done. The air held presence like the broad involuted skirts of my grandmother. A fragrance, all about me, was something to be searched with soft fingertips reading the many messages in many times and hues. It was a luminescence of the mind whose canyons wait for the cry of the hawk. 
        And how the trees slender in copses, stately in galleries, came to meet me.