Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.

Now the swinging bridge Is quieted with creepers ... Like our tendrilled life.

Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.

The moon and sun are travelers through eternity. Even the years wander on. Whether drifting through life on a boat or climbing toward old age leading a horse, each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate

Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.