As a beginning, in my back yard the months of spring can be measured by the sequence of perennial flowers. The violets first appear with the thawing of the ground and the greening of the grass; they flourish while the cold winds of March slow into the misty drizzle of April, then they are gone. Next the lilacs lend their fragrance to the night air and, as the lilacs disappear in May, yellows tulips pray their stiff attention, then they too are gone. Now at the beginning of June irises sail the night with purple wings. Soon will come roses and the various blossoms of high summer. Where now have the violets gone, the lilacs and the tulips? The violet plant is now a little weed in the grass, whose thick and woody roots I am careful not to pull. But where have those scattered flowers gone that recently sprinkled the ground with amethyst snow? And where now is the fragrance of the roses that will soon bloom? Where now but in the void?
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