Through winter snow and cleansing spring rain, summer verdancy and autumn color-- I have walked this path a thousand times before. Season following season in such gradual transition that it sometimes seems as if nothing really changes at all. Yet, time and age and the season must change as do all things finite though, I don't sense that I am a day younger than I will be tomorrow or a day older than I was yesterday. On this stormy day I walk through fallen leaves forming a coverture beneath my feet, nature's barometer of winter's coming, lying one upon another in the blustery wind-- their order rearranged as the storm beats down, washing the leaves and the time and itself away. In the presence of Yin, there too resides Yang-- in the face of death, new life is born, balance and symmetry sought as I and the season and the path I walk, change, though I often think should I walk it a thousand times again-- it would still be the same. In the reality of my being and the illusion I perceive, only eternity is a constant, only creator supreme. Naught but infinity and the path I walk through the changing seasons, in the notions of my mind remain--forever the same.