We have had bird's-eye views seen by mind's eye imperfectly. Now we will have nothing less than the tracings of nature itself, reflected on the plate.
For mountain and stream, tree and leaf, root and blossom, every form in nature is echoed in us and originates in the soul whose being is eternity and is hidden from us but none the less gives itself to us for the most part in the power of love and creation.
To what shall I liken the world? Moonlight, reflected In dewdrops, Shaken from a crane's bill.
Is there a more mysterious idea than to imagine how nature is reflected in the eyes of animals?
Grandmother walked up over the bare granite and thought about birds in general. It seemed to her no other creature had the same dramatic capacity to underline and perfect events - the shifts in the seasons and the weather, the changes that run through people themselves.
The works of nature first acquire a meaning in the commentaries they provoke.
I think so many of the themes from the natural world mimic emotional themes in our lives.
When the thunder roars, do you not hear your Self? When the lightening cracks, do you not see your Self? When clouds float quietly across the sky, is this not your very own limitless Being, waving back at you?
The soul is content to stay imprisoned in the human body... for through the eyes all the various things of nature are represented to the soul.
The trees reflected in the river - they are unconscious of a spiritual world so near to them. So are we.
There is no creature so small and abject, that it representeth not the goodness of God.
