...pleasure before horticulture, that your box?
For today’s scientist, boxed fits of modesty are supposed to impress, yet their affect is sweeping, swept up or vacuumed from the shrunken floor.
A year of modesty and you switch into an autodidact of excess. We’re pre-empiricists, now, viewing my theory as particles of pink turtleheadflower, Joe-Pye weed, twinleaf, wild bergamot, beardtongue, foaming down in yellow violet.

From here: Modal syllogisms are sanctioned conjecture. So modest one, buzz me up while disquiet grows cutthroat. We’re our own custodians.