That line of leathery green leaves in the field (they'll bloom Pink Ladies in summer) marks, maybe a garden path once attached to a house (gone), the water pump nearby we use now to regulate well water from tanks on the hill eucalyptus planted in perfectly straight rows, someone's failed moneymaker now "invasive species" spindly skyscrapers, the hawks' nesting on a sea of leaves they look for Australia, those leaves the raptors, too search a line of plum trees, the fruit mostly inedible, sourish Before the eucalyptus, the pink ladies, and plums this was the oaks' maternal domain My fifth year walking down and up Walker Valley Rd., between oaks dying and oaks living still --- That first stroll, with Gracie (my dog) I stumbled on a pot-hole and fell, not knowing the road; scraped my wrist and knee. Now I know what weedy patch the Boletes prefer, where the "secret" deer paths lead down to asphalt, where the lottery tickets are discarded, and where this afternoon a St. Patrick's day green bagel on the roadside gravel, half-eaten. Lines: June 7, 1852. We had a good walk, W.E.C. & I along the Bank of the North Branch to the swamp, & to the "Harrington Estate." C's young dog scampered & dived & swam at such a prodigal rate, that one could not help grudging the youth of the Universe (the animals) their Heaven. ---Ralph Waldo Emerson, from "GO 1852-1853," Selected Journals 1841-1877, p. 594.