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Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky. We fell them down and turn them into paper that we may record our emptiness.
Should you care to write (and only the saints know why you should) you must needs have knowledge and art and magic—the knowledge of the music of words, the art of being artless, and the magic of loving your readers.
They dip their pens in our hearts and think they are inspired.
Should a tree write its autobiography it would not be unlike the history of a race.
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