Last week when the sun was shining, I walked up a hay meadow, and came across this hay bale (actually there are two of them), an arrangement of shapes, foreground and background, marking a kind of natural geometry.
Seamus Heaney's poem "Markings" has the following lines:
All these things entered you
As if they were both the door and what came through it.
They marked the spot, marked time and held it open.