365 tiles,
cradling 365 ladles of water, 365 wisps of air, and 365 rounds of moonrise.
This is a calendar, daring to predict the weather for the whole year,
making it the most audacious yet utterly meaningless of them.
It takes no responsibility for unraveling omens of fortune or doom,
nor does it care for anyone's daily joys or sorrows.
It has but one mission —
To eavesdrop on the sun, moon, and stars,
on winds, clouds, snow, and rain,
and record their whispered secrets, however fleeting.
"Look here! In 145 days, there will be hail."
"And there — 238 days from now, winter's first snow shall fall!"
It cries out its findings with fervor,
yet no one spares it a glance,
save for a few jeers and scornful remarks.
It wonders why no one cares for tears that fall from the heavens,
when so many believe in horoscope, fate, gods, and ghosts.
Saddened, it bows its head and falls silent.
After a long while, a little child approaches,
tugging at its hand to ask,
"When will summer come?
Then, I can have ice cream!"
It does not lift its head,
but simply points to somewhere near the center of its body, and says,
"Here it’ll be warm enough."