All that is ripest and fairest in the wilderness is preserved and transmitted to us in the strain of the wood thrush. This is the only bird whose note affects me like music, affects the flow and tenor of my thought, my fancy and imagination. It lifts and exhilarates me. It is inspiring. It is a medicative draught to my soul.
Arriving daffodils will make no sound, will blow no trumpets -- only the earthworm close to its root, burrowing underground, will hear the upsurge, feel the green stems yearn.
Beauty returns to Earth, devoid of noise, devoid of clamor. Now it lifts its head epitome of stillness and of poise and in unbroken silence all is said.
~ Fanny De Groot Hastings, thanks to Sally Hopkins
