You and your neighbour have agreed to name late summer the fifth season. You feel the rapid shifts between heat and cold, you notice migratory birds, hear the sounds of renovations and new construction, catch voices out of the blue and sense change in the air. Any of the signs of the fifth season can trigger a train of thoughts, awaken a memory, create an association.
You see this and let it all be. You observe calmly and consider whether the stillness behind August is boring. You become aware that you—yourself—are suggesting this thought, and you ask me:
“Who is it?”

You could let it all go or embrace it all. Time passes and time comes; everything happens in its own time. Do you find this boring?

You listen again to the voices out of the blue and understand what they’re saying; you hear the noise of the machines and the cries of the birds, the rustling of the wind, and the sound of the eternal signal in your inner ear. And a new, deep, rumbling tone, the source of which you cannot tell—whether it comes from within or without. Perhaps you are only now aware of it. It is there when you are in stillness.

Try again to let it all go or embrace it all. I tell you, everything is just waves; everything is in motion; everything changes; everything passes.

You find that hard to accept, and you ask:
“Who are you?”

And I say: What are you?

You write these words, you read these words. You might end up in a place where everything is the same and can be left as is, or where you embrace it all as is, and where you answer “I don’t know” to everything—but you think that would be a bit boring for now.