Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 8 · column 3 of 9 · from the scan, no model involved
A reader called tonight and asked what topic I was thinking on this week. I was not sure at the time, but was thinking about the beauty of the dogwoods. My wife had just complimented me on making such a beautiful hill. I reminded her that the hill had always been there, that I had only removed the undesirable undergrowth and left the dogwoods and redbud, Judas if you prefer. I am only an instrument in the hands of the greatest Gardener, with His help the hill is more beautiful.
Driving over to Culpeper a few days ago, suddenly a motorist left his line of traffic and was coming down hill at a terrific speed. I couldn’t get off the road so I stopped. My wife and grandchildren were screaming, I was thinking; IS THIS IT? I’ve often expressed a wish when my time comes it will be sudden and as painless as possible, (I’m a coward.) I don’t want others to be involved in my demise. Is it morbid to ask at a time when the Dark Angel hovers near, IS IT NOW?
Several years ago I composed this poem and titled it:
DOGWOODS ’66
I have this thing
(Pardon the slang)
Going with God
That He grant me
Another spring.
May I assume
That I’ll remain
Till greening sod.
And o’er hill and plain
Dogwoods bloom.
I found this poem in my scrapbook. The poet is not known, but the words seem especially fitting at this season. Oh there will come a time when April will Drive through a greening meadow once again. And other eyes than mine will
89.1%