Realizes that October is a long time ago and that the rain has started to come down.

October is gone and so are the leaves of a year, the pages also turned and spent. They are now dirt striding under the heels of boots, gone adventuring into spring.

I wonder about the spring and its dawn, now that its dawn is here, now.

Before, 'twas just its hope, and now it's the reality of the alchemical reactions of composting, the nitty-gritty of nature; although today I thought even deeper, folding space-time into itself.

This maybe as much reality as I am willing to unleash unto the world.

I'm in a box of mine own and of natures making.