Roots drink the earth water and transmute it with the sun to grow from high and low. Maple leaves float dreamily to the forest floor as the tree sheds her cloak before her vampire lover’s approach. Her valentines: a heavy mallet, knife, spigot and bucket. They come to boil her blood until it drips slow and viscous, fit for cakes made in a pan or waffled in an iron. Some is boiled yet further and thrown onto the powdery snow, crackling into candy runes whose divination celebrates ecstatically the generative water, sun and loam.