Mid-Springtime. May-time-June-time. I have not understood Her. I have lost my Nose for Weather. Too many Orchards were in Bloom, I had to sniff the Apple Blossoms. They deadened my Senses to most Things of the Sky: this is where I dwelt, on Earth. Amid the Bees, Amid the Pollen, in the Sacred Dance, Romance. Earth is Springtime, all's forgotten of Watching for Storms or cowering in Wind. The Heat brings a Beauty which gives Life to the Hopeful, and Hope for the Living, as long as they're 'round. And this is not all I blame for my Distraction: no, its for the sayings I hear on the Breeze.
Summer Ships are sailing, from the South, and from the East. I've caught a Current and shall carry it West, to a Place called Oceany-Beach. But still, as its looming, I can't help but watch the Sails. It keeps pace with Every Tempest. It is a Ship that None Assail. And commanding its Prow is a Captain so Stern. A granite Whip in his Furnace-Iron Hand.
Sternfulness, and yet there's Mercy, because He rides the sweetest Breezes. It smells of Cardamom and Xinnamon, of Zingiber and Spike. This is the Ship with Salvation in It. This is the Call for a Newer, bright Shore.
All Hands on Deck, be ye Man or be ye FoX. Withdraw thine Anchors and mount the Ship's M.A.S.T. We are Discoverers on the River of January. We are the Flux-Defeaters. We are the "Wildness Is Never Dying" W.I.N.D., and we are the Peaceful Reprieve that is Lowered. We are the Bloomers, instead of the Deep-Doomers, like a Serpent that is writhing in his Scales. Scales are Justice, but here is Mercy. Here is Pardon. Here's Escape.
Yes Eyes See.
Yes, Eyes, See!
See Eden all around you.