Perplexed by verdant blessing as I pass through the night filled with thoughts of spring in the wrong season. Low hung moon, huge bronzed slither all wrong in the sky where mountains should be, in the West where setting sun did pass, too early, I doubt reality. Window to obscure thoughts, I find my mind opens to the unseen and ears suddenly hear the determined whisper of the Fae, tonight? Tonight shall we play? Why not when my verdant thoughts of night and spring are all introverted and upturned.