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20 in a moment You are more spruce then pine though I never definitely knew it ti ll now Miles miles of tree scripture along
the sky, a bible that will one day be read the beauty of its letters sentences have burned me like fire through all these
Sierra seasons Yet I cannot interpret their hidden thoughts. They are terrestrial expressions of sun pure as water snow Heavens
listen to the wind song. I m still writing beneath that grand old pine in Blacks Yard that other companion scarcely less while
back of wh I sheltered during the earth quake is just a few yards beyond the shadows of their boles lie like charred logs
on the gray sand while half the yard is embrodered with their branches leaves. There goes a wood pecker with an acorn to drive
into its thick bark for winter, well it may gather its stores for I can myself detect winter in the wind 21 Few nights
of my mountain life have been more eventful than that of my ride in the woods from Coulterville where I made my reunion with
the winds pines. It was eleven o clock when we reached Blacks ranch I was weary soon died in sleep How cool vital recreative
was the hale young mountain air. An higher higher up into the holy of holies of the woods Pure white Custrous clouds overshadowed
the Massive Congregations of Silver fir pine. We entered a thousand living arms were waved in solemn blessing. An infinity
of mountain life How complete is the absorption of ones life into the spirits of mountain woods No one can love or hate an
enemy here, for no one can conceive of such a creature as an enemy. Nor can one have any distinctive love of friends The dearest
best of you all seemed of no special account mere trifles