Late summer a lofty pause. At work I am absent from myself; from any conviction. The vegetation has reached to its fullest and covers the vision. Memory free of concern. As in the work of nighttime to morning, so memory of other seasons is dimmed. We wish to retreat at length and recline to watch the season's sunset. Not yet the descent into the urgent. A moment sent to you so silent, it is punctuated with the song of cicadas, chyrp of crickets, so nourishing for you have only to lift your eyes to see.