And so the years turned their wheel and I revisited places separated from themselves by the seasons. Nature spoke truth in contradictions. I saw red beech leaves in the spring because storm and snow had turned the newborn instantly to the ancient with one withering breath. Where there had been snow and mist now shone rock and mirage. Rivers dried as they do in the old ballads when love is forsaken. I bathed in hot springs that flowed from the earth's side. The very rocks became transparent. And solid nature, which the bootsole expects, under the brush became fluidly insubstantial. Now the dragon of vision had caught up with me and I was in its claws.