seasons

Bare bark sticks seem lifeless against the grey Autumn dusk.

Two years I've watched the leaves turn to yellow, to red, to brown.

Felt Winter's bones aching across snow capped mountains. Icy air cutting days in half.

Watched Spring burst her way through the dirt to greet me. Jonquils and bees on the morning breeze.

Saw Summer come with the cries of black cockatoos calling for the rain. Her burning breath blowing me back to the seas.

I waxed and waned with the Moon in the blackened nights and dreamed away the endless days passing across blue blazoned skies.

Now it's the day after my birthday and the leaves are falling outside.

Death sweeps her way through the frosted blades of grass in the meadows, skipping like stones on the river down the road until she wraps herself around those who's season has come to a close.

Are you the leaf that has fallen back to the Earth, or am I?

Perhaps you are the clouds and I am the lonely branches stretching out to meet you?

Is sadness only felt by those who are left behind?

Not by the stars who sail across the heavenly seas nor the trees who stand deep and rooted for centuries.

The last leaf drifts down to the ground becoming fuel for the next dawning.

I lay myself on Earth's cushioned body, heavy and held, and remember the seasons that once passed us by.

Summer. Autumn.

By Winter you were gone.

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