What is your favorite season, then, if not the winter?
*simply, openly, though he cannot tell whether you will believe him, or even understand, when you have not known him the way others have (and unbelieved)* I have always been born in summer. I love the hot summers. (I even love her names.) I love to ride hard or hike perilous trails until my body aches and the sweat pours. All life comes back to the lands and it reminds me that we are only one sort of guest here. *as though it logically follows* I should like to read your poems sometime.
*falls quieter again as the path becomes rougher again* *rides for what feels like hours until they finally break the tree line, emerging on the riverbank* There, you see? *watches a hawk wheel high overheard and listens to telltale rustlings in the brush* All are awake.