George Buttrick, an imaginative preacher, wrote poignantly, "We die with half our
music in us." How sad, not that we die, but that we leave so much unsung, not having
exhausted our melody.
Marv and Nancy Hiles
Walking home, I ponder about a love of art and I think about my love of the land back home, about the healing grace of wildness, and how difficult it is to articulate why conservation matters, why wilderness matters to the health of our souls and how a language of the heart becomes suspect. I wonder how it is we have come to this place where art and nature are spoken in terms of what is optional?