Anicca: Impermanence
Nothing that arises keeps its shape. "Fruitful among his brothers" is Ephraim's own name handed back to him, and the name will outlast by centuries the harvest it once described. An orchard in full bearing stands one season from bare wood, so the east wind is only arriving on time rather than breaking in.
Aṭṭha lokadhammā: The eight worldly winds
Gain and loss, praise and blame, honor and disgrace, pleasure and pain: eight winds that turn through every life. The hot gust off the desert is loss taking its turn, following a good growing season as reliably as it follows a poor one. Ephraim rose highest among his brothers, and height is what wind finds first. Anyone who expects the weather to change can watch the leaves strip without hearing a promise break.
Kamma-vipāka: The ripening of action
Deeds come due in their own season. The breath rises up from the wilderness, the same dry country where Ephraim was fed and known, and which he walked out of to go kissing calves. A field gives back the crop that was put into it, and this harvest is on its way in.
Upādāna: Clinging
Grasping closes the hand on what is already leaving. Storehouse of treasure holds the whole habit in three words: harvest turned to silver, silver stacked behind a door, a door a raiding army opens in an afternoon. The plundering wounds in proportion to the grip, since the silver was going either way, and only the holding decides whether its going lands as ruin.
Anattā: Not-self
Nothing here answers to an owner. "His spring," "his fountain": the possessive claims water that no one has ever ordered to keep running, in a land where rain was always somebody else's to give. Ephraim can dig the channel and wall the cistern, and the flow still comes and goes on terms he did not set. Loosening the "his" is what leaves a man standing when the fountain goes dry.