And that day the wind was much too cold even to get that far, and of course the house was boarded up. Of course because it is all of a piece with the day, with the mood, with the lack of a sense of grace that might have opened the house to the soul longing for entry. As we have seen, the house is not the house of faith but the house produced by doubt and despair. If there is any way out of this vicious circle of self-referentiality, it must come from elsewhere. But the speaker is lost in the labyrinth, following only a kite string with no kite at the end of it.
Art is the creation of an imaginative universe.
Again the landscape serves as an objective correlative for the poet-speaker's mood but here it is one of surprise and delight. We know the poet's imagination has been released into a different kind of story-making, one full of laughter and metaphor, because she tells us that it is not so much the outside world that has changed but rather her capacity to read its rocks differently. And of course in this interpretation we cannot forget that the end of March is also the season of Easter and the resurrection. In many mystical traditions God is playful and the saint is also a fool. If faith is a moving target, the soul herself is also moving.