The posture of the tree
Shows the prevailing wind;
And ours, long misery
When you are long unkind.
But forward, look, we lean—
Not backward as in doubt—
And still with branches green
Ride our ill weather out.
“A kind in glass and a cousin, a spectacle and nothing strange a single hurt color and an arrangement in a system to pointing. All this and not ordinary, not unordered in not resembling. The difference is spreading.”
Gertrude Stein | “A Carafe, That Is a Blind Glass”