‘However great the movement of a sculpture may be….it must return to itself, the great circle must complete itself, the circle of solitude that encompasses a work of art.’

Rainer Maria Rilke Auguste Rodin.

A songbird’s silent flight through the storm,

or the siren call to an unknown island,

the curfew cry in fading light,

with spell cast and runes read,

a task for Janus

gathering his spirit

fashioned by a curious fate,

familiar to the curious

who stand in the summer rain

and see the snow before it falls.

A trail of enchantment,

a picture chosen from many

for its muted tones.

Who determines the music’s flow

through the fertile plains of the soul?

In every season there is something

to remember of another time.

When we feel spring’s incoming

who dares not breathe in life?

The answers are carved in stone.