Fresh air, bright water;: Adventures in Wood, field, and stream

A beautiful quote from Wood, Field and Stream, by Nelson Brayant: "Once upon a time, my daughters, there was a boy who beheld the earth with a wonder much like yours. Each dawn was promise, each season a delight and the world, for all its anguish was good to know. Those were the years when the boy could spend an entire August afternoon, nibbling watercress and watching trout hover above the pebbles in a brook, a time when the years that lay ahead, seemed inexhaustible, a time of soaring dreams. It was the time when a gull's cry, muted by fog and distance, could call the boy down miles of empty beach alone, his thoughts as wide as the Atlantic. And it may startle you to know that your father, who was once the boy, still feels the tug of moonlight through pines or across the shining water, and marvels at the first lilies of spring. The secret I would have you know this Christmas Eve is that even though the years will steal your fresh beauty, it need only be, in truth, a minor theft. What you must guard against is that jaded state wherein there is nothing new to see or learn. Marvel at the sun, rejoice in the rhythmic wheeling of the stars and learn their names, cry aloud at the swelling beauty of an orchid in the white oak woods, or December's first snow; slide down the wind with a hawk and cherish the smell of woodsmoke and mayflowers, or the caress of a warm wool blanket; tarry by a stream where willows bend and flee tedium's gray embrace. Cherish laughter and whimsy, but battle unrelentingly for what you know is right and be aware that the thieves of wonder can enter any heart. This does not mean that you will forever walk in fields of flowers where sweet birds sing, although there, is no father who has not, for a time at least, wished this for his girls. You will love and be loved, hurt and be hurt and you will know despair and taste regret, but if your father's wish is answered, you will accept all this and ask for more. Look back, my girls, but not too often and more to learn than to regret, for regret grows fat as hope grows lean. Less wise than loving, striving to make words replace some deeds undone, your father wishes you a happy Christmas."