The Hermit’s Tale
I went to see the hermit on the mountain.
“It must be time to work that garden. It’s past mid-April.”
“April?” he looked at me quizzically.
It was then I realized he had no calendar.
In searching the walls and nooks I saw he also had no clock.
“Do you want a clock?” I asked casually as he sat oiling a tarpaulin.
“I have a lot of them.” I continued, “And maybe a calendar?”
He looked at me again, in utter consternation.
As if, like at Babel, our languages were suddenly one different from the other.
“No thanks.” he finally answered. He tapped his breast bone.
“This is my clock.”
He looked out through the open doorway by which he labored and said “This is my calendar.”
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