Sometimes the collusion of precise climatic elements produce a day that means something. The pace of the breeze along with flawless white puffy clouds against a perfect blue; a certain grey cloud and the shake of the right leaves with the right rythymn ; and a freshly trimmed (preferably sheep-grazed) span of fawny grass. Once all is in place certain juices stir in the psyche; the world of the head drops into the span of the heart and suddenly everything means something; all the forest paths of the past lead to a precipice, to a gaping vastness. There is now a felt clarity not just the ring tinging of clever thoughts. Twice a year does such a day happen and when it does the world can never be the same again.