Once again autum is almost here in my valley...Before this season ends, a whole new generation will feel the cold for the first time. Once again my mind is thinking about how many notions there are of how life began. Most are filled with scientific argument, supposedly beyond question. And most bother me. Because misuse of science has put my world beneath the horror of a great shadow.
And because life, despite its problems, still seems too beautiful to have begun by accident. I turn from such theories and go down to my meadow, where the warm earth is solid in my hands and where I can see a little stream filled with winter's diamonds and summer's rainbows.
And I remember that there is another story of the beginning of life, in a book written thrity-three centuries ago.
It is an alternative. It is a love story.