An Adagio rose upon me in my bed from Page 903.

I

All of our ideas come from the natural world: Trees = umbrellas.

I am allergic to trees. Trees and cat dander, latex, and peach fuzz; and alfalfa.

If latex wasn't from nature, the sap of a plant, Stevens's words might not be more clear.

Nature caused my parents to leave the fertile alfalfa fields of Wyoming to protect me. A blind doctor helped me breathe by soaking whole wheat bread dough in vinegar and wrapping my chest each night. When I think back on denying my allergies so that I could work in the farm dust with my siblings, I think back on a legacy of denying allergies to go to work, to engage in social interactions, and to live. No complaints mind you, thoughts of my life bring a smile and a giggle.

As I try to make sense of natural allergies to nature, perhaps I am allergic to ideas as well. I work in a world of land resources and environmental science where the natural Truth is actually an anti-Truth, or everything that is 'not' proven to be True. Is Truth even an Idea? Presentation of scientific results always begin with "I could be wrong, but...", something the news media seem to forget to include. 

[Not in the Adagio] With trees as others' umbrellas, my ideas come in the rain.

A second Adagio resounded from Page 901

The evening's thought is like a day of clear weather.

LA Story is an intertext to William Shakespeare's Madea.

The freeway Amber alert sign warns travelers of inclement weather until all is resolved at the end of the story, All Clear.

William Shakespeare's Madea is an intertext of a much earlier poet's writing, but I don't remember who that is right now. I know because I forgot to put it on a test and got a B- instead of the A I prepared for. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. I knew the answer all the way home before the paper was even graded. 

I fell through a hole in a floor at a neighbor's house one evening. I didn't know I fell because I found myself lying on the floor wondering where I was. It had been a hard trip by snowmobile to get to the caboose converted to home in the woods where I would not get in too much trouble. It was the first time that day, lying there on the floor, that I realized a peace away from a snowmobile bouncing and bumping, lying there on the floor, not knowing where I was, and it was clear that I did not know how I got there or what to do.