The blooming spring sings seductive songs through the cracked window. A chirping of sparrows, the dust from gravel scattered asphalt roads, the sparkling of sunshine over the hill extend the arms of spring, putting an end to the cold hands of winter. The months through ice and snowfall are now touched by rare spurts of the coming spring season, so often sparse and erratic through the world. It is a pleasant arrival, flourishing in the presence of light jackets and the disappearance of rugged snow boots.
Seasons are a true experience, awaited patiently one after the other. There is a usually a pursuit of the oncoming season, towards the end of the one passing. Spring is a special touch upon a land so often immersed in all that is cold. It is a rebirth, a spawning, and springing of life across the forests and cities. Seagulls and sparrows, flowers and fauna grow and signal seasonal change through the arrival of warmer life.
The abundance of white scenery across land recedes, giving way to the slow surfacing greens and browns. Walking into the retreating whiteness, the leaves and grass take hold around footing, growing onto feet and eyes like thickened moss until there is a complete change in landscape and the snows are no longer to be found. As clothes grow lighter with passing days, the trees grow thicker and livelier with each sparkling morning. This is the birth of spring, soon to blossom into a full swing of warmer life.
In a box carriage, a glass marries me to one-way streets, floating backwards in these dreams I wish to speak.
But I mumble in sleep, eyes closed, mouth open roped into my seat. My feet tingling from the motion of my mind, I find a black space around me in the form of scenery. The greenery no longer bright in dark night. Sounding out into an evening of empty howls, the calls of wild owls hovering alone, watching those prowled upon by the worn claws of winter’s gasps and scowls.
Seizing warmth from the odd spectators wishing but a little place on long benches, now finding solace in the passing by of frozen trenches, in search of a relaxation comfortable as the wool of sheep on a winter day. The colors necessary to fill the artless and put an end to seasonal darkness are close by.
Lights flicker in the carriage, my cold seat at last defeated by touches of heat, putting an end to the months long marriage to wintry sleep.
Cool winds sweep aside winter chills
bathe me in warmth, that sweet summer breeze
The degrees do not count; only add up to spring’s sprout
the seasonal bouts of black jackets and frosted mouths
no longer about today, as they say, “the sun is out”
Enjoy good weather, skin no longer needed to be thick as leather
soft as darkening evenings, sparkling spring, the lightning in a brightening season
The reason for smiles, the warmth and charity of our seasonal clarity
no more disparity in our distance
our insistence to be resistant peeling off in an instant
The trembling leaves grieve and wish relief from winter’s grip. A trip into the spring does not always bring sunshine. Rather, it reminds us of various seasons and reasons why the cold has not passed. The greenery of summer grass now pelted with hail, the bales of hay stand firm in the windy sway that has us running for cover in hopes of a real summer day. Bring what it may, the scene is as superb as unpredictable; flashes of light storms and dawns that splash across neighborhood lawns.
A clean cut view obscured by snow, whereas the leaves still grow and the breeze still blows in frigid throes of wintry days, a place where the greys of clouds forever approach. This is the national spring, not far from winter. The lightened evening thieving away the darkness that kept the land in the frigid hibernation. An elation to open eyes, against the silent night skies that tell no more than what rests in the horizon in the form of little stars twinkling in surprise.
Following a lengthy absence stretching through the months of spring, summer, and fall, the first flurries of snow have arrived to whiten the start of yet another winter season. The fresh flakes of snow make their way to the ground quickly, bordering a texture and size similar to rain drops. After the initial passing minutes through the downfall, the remnants of rain diminish, transforming water entirely into small white flecks falling fast to the ground, gaining momentum and abundance in their descent. The grey sky cover above encompasses the city on this cold day, foreshadowing a gentle first snowfall and one of many in the coming months.
The flurry is inconsistent at first, small flakes making their way to the dampened ground with haste. Gently picking up pace and increasing in density, the flakes swirl through the air, colliding with their counterparts before disappearing upon their landing. The flakes float through the atmosphere like tiny patterned feathers, following no set path to their impact with the ground below. The flurry intertwines and engages with the backdrop of streets and buildings, dotting the picture with subtle white specks of white frost. The direction of the periodic passing wind is visible in the wild and unpredictable motion of these little dots of ice as they tumble plentiful from the skies.
The short lived existence of these individual flakes adds an unmistakable energy to the otherwise dull cityscape of gray skies and cold weather. Like a sunny hot summer’s day, this snowfall carries a brightening illumination of its own, revitalizing winter energy and obscuring the vision of those who peer out from their windows or set foot outside their homes and offices to embrace the changing seasons. As the city eases gently into this yearly change, the flurry continues to present thick dots of frost to earth from the omnipresent clouds, landing on the cars, streets and cold, unsuspecting noses of the city dwellers.
The leaves, once thriving with a fresh green color as bright as the sun that nourished them, have diminished in vivacity. Their texture has steadily regressed to a fragile state, cracking and crunching on the slightest contact with human hands. The tiny veins pulsating life through these leaves once breathed an energetic existence in harmony with the other trees that sprung to life in the vicinity, during the springtime. The bountiful disorganized, mismatched leaves clung to these same trees from dense branches strong enough to withstand forceful gusts of winds. The leaves held on firm, playing the role of their short lived part in the Earth cycle. With the curtains now drawing closed on yet another summer season, the brittle leaves now fall individually from the trees, one by another floating silently to the cold hardened ground.
There is a dynamic beauty in the turning of the seasons. As summer gives way to fall, the colors on the leaves transcend from a robust, rich density to various sharp shades ranging through red, yellow and orange before fading to a brown lifeless form. The dry leaf’s texture takes on a separate essence from its original form, bearing little resemblance to the life it once carried. A flash-filled end to the hot season and the on come of autumn is a short lived but lively show, surrounding the area with scenes of vivid graphic appeal. The burst of such various luminous colors before the inevitable corrosion of these leaves livens the parks and forests before settling into the frigid months of lifeless hibernation.
As the trees stand naked, the dried up branches poke out their jagged stalks, unwelcoming and rough. Autumn has taken the breath away from some trees faster than others but inevitably, many of the trees here will fade for the winter, shedding the remainder of their coat of leaves.
With roots alive and intact, the trees will once again have their time come spring. And so the life cycle continues.