the Sun there could be anything so rich, so prodigal, so
reckless, as this opulence of ruddy gold, bursting out from the
cracked earth as from some fiery vein below. I remembered how
for thousands of years Wheat had been the staple of wealth, the
hoarded wealth of famous cities and empires; I thought of the
processes of corn-growing, the white oxen ploughing, the great
barns, the winnowing fans, the mills with the splash of their
wheels, or arms slow-turning in the wind; of cornfields at
harvest-time, with shocks and sheaves in the glow of sunset, or
under the sickle moon; what beauty it brought into the northern
landscape, the antique, passionate, Biblical beauty of the
South!




_The Coming of Fate_


When I seek out the sources of my thoughts, I find they had
their beginning in fragile Chance; were born of little moments
that shine for me curiously in the past. Slight the impulse that
made me take this turning at the crossroads, trivial and
fortuitous the meeting, and light as gossamer the thread
that first knit me to my friend. These are full of wonder;
more mysterious are the moments that must have brushed me
with their wings and passed me by: when Fate beckoned and I
did not see it, when new Life trembled for a second on the
threshold; but the word was not spoken, the hand was not
held out, and the Might-have-been shivered and vanished, dim