A Pneumatic Calendar 



get in your coal and put on your weather 

 strips. 



So have I been dreaming of all the winds 

 in the year, while I sit listening to the moan 

 of this December weather. Every date in 

 my pneumatic calendar has been checked 

 off. Have they not strange, subtle voices, 

 these messengers of the air? Yet I trust 

 that other interpreters than I have heard the 

 same unfeigned messages, and have caught 

 somewhat of that inner meaning of which 

 Alice Gary hints in her beautiful lines : 



" Softly among the limbs, 



Turning the leaves of hymns, 

 I heard the winds, and asked if God were there. 

 No voice replied, but while I listening stood, 

 Sweet peace made holy hushes through the wood." 



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