Springtime, Summer and Fall: days to behold a world Antecedent to our knowing, where flowers think Theirs concretely in scent-colors and beasts, the same Age all over, pursue dumb horizontal lives. On one level of conduct and so cannot be Secretary to man's plot to become divine.
Lodged in all is a set metronome: thus, in May Bird-babes, still in the egg, click to each other "Hatch!"; June-struck cuckoos go off pitch when obese July Turns earth's heating up; unknotting their poisoned ropes. Vipers move into play; warmed by October's nip, Younger leaves to the old give the releasing draught.
Winter, though, has the right tense for a look indoors At ourselves and with First Names to sit face to face, Time for reading of thoughts, time for trying out Of new meters and new recipes, proper time To reflect on events noted in warmer months Till, transmuted, they take part in a human tale.
There, responding to our cry for intelligence, Nature's mask is relaxed into a mobile grin, Stones, old shoes, come alive, born sacramental signs, Nod to us in the First Person of mysteries. They know nothing about, bearing a mess from The invisible sole Source of specific things.