Behold I am a door without locks. Imagine me a child of wind. Whirlwind was my father. And summer breeze the maid who bore his mighty onslaught. Imagine me with sunlight, or with rain - the pure convergence of all flowing water. I am seasons' child. My door's unbolted and my window's flung. I bear the bright effulgence of the universal heart. I am the meeting of the finger and the thumb; the mute and the conversant tongue who registers the spectrum of the living hours. Behold me, as I pass the doorway of your troubled mind. Behold me now. I am seasons' child. I am yours to find.