All seasons come to winter. Wind plays back the moods and melodies the year has written; fingers along the scale; plucks taut and slack; tuning, whistles an a note up to tighten . . . Trees lie low in themselves, plants fall to base, pulled back to their genetic memories. Daylilies crouch within their nesting place and daffodils are corms of dreaming. Size and shape convert for slumber. Clocks are wound and ticking round the cycle chosen by each sleeping guest set swiftly to respond to ciphered changes in the earth and sky. Snow spreads and tucks a quilt, and seasons all snug down for waiting: summer, spring, and fall.