Grass wears the crystals of its chilly possibilities, the tension of growing again. Midwinter: a dandelion raises a fuzzy gray head. Memories here. Don't slide on that sheet of ice: the pestilence of regret! A few more miles then circle around, returning to the heat of where it all began. There was no leap, no miracle child, no genetic wonder, no nascent god. But when the ice melted and spring appeared,"Walden was dead and is alive again."