poetry about the seasons
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In a quiet little town-close enough to the coast to look for seaglass in summer. Is a cozy little house-close enough to the woods to watch the leaves change in fall. With a few good neighbors-close enough to share baked goods and gossip in winter. Who sit around a fire-close enough to imagine the warmth
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Has the night always encroached so quickly, after the leaves have turned? Has the dark always fallen so surely after the first season’s snow? Have the days always been so short? Have hours always felt so long? Has winter always entered so suddenly? Where has the autumn gone?
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I walk down empty streets under a gray sky. A crow caws overheard- answered by its murder’s calls. The brisk east wind blasts across the lake racing toward the mountains. It pushes back my black hood, and tangles my long hair. My nose reddens with the cold’s sting. New buds grow on the bare trees,
Bringing Mae Flowers 