Seasons

By Anonymous

Summer brought upon a moment of sweetness, like saccharine black berries. Mystical stories flowed through the wind, like puerile tales of dragons and fairies. The Aureate sun beams on the horizon and balmy breezes whistle like doves. The moisture of the morning webs like a membranous layer over the grassland and the ephemeral feelings written in the atmosphere cement themselves into my skin. But still, the hum of cicadas echos in the distance, signaling an ending, marking a sense of loss.

Autumn arrives the warmth of the air is sunken into the colours of the leaves and thick sap,viscous and heavy with lament, slowly pools in crevices in the oak. The weather chills and life decays, preparing for the numb, biting cold gnawing at my flesh. Crestfallen hearts and snow banks crust over grasslands and drink the life out of the greenery.

The first snowflakes of winter fall, as do tears from our eyes. They do not dew and dance on the grass, they freeze, they crystallize, and sink below the surface. The sun sets later, and the darkness looms over us. Cruel words whisper with the winds and I wistfully yearn for songbirds again.

Spring approaches, pregnant with flora and saturated with hope. Ripping through the earth with desire, life makes itself present in the form of growth. The rain pours itself over us and washes away the pain, clearing a path once more for the cyclical recurrence of life to decay.