Opposing Seasonal Change

by Veronica

The cold and crisp air frost bites fingers, toes, noses; leaving eyelash

Icicles in its wake. Snow falls slowly with individual flake purpose, careful

And considerate to no one. It seems somehow otherworldly in its descent

To the ground. One snowflake floating down down down(like the thermometer)

Suddenly becomes a hundred thousand million billion,

Snowflakes piled one pressed against the other in all directions,

The mound of snow to which they belong precariously peaked. Fresh blanket of

Snowflakes littering the road(three AM, should be sleeping), street

Lights casting an orange glow on the pure white, untouched

Snowy scene. Heavy on pine tree boughs, giving forth and spilling white

solid liquid all over the forest floor, animals napping peacefully in

Dens and nests and homes. Cocoa brewing hot on the stove(with cinnamon

And marshmallows in a favourite mug), warming insides just with the smell.

But soon enough, weary gloves and scarves are cast aside for the sun

Is shining bright on a spring-winter day, snowflakes

Melting into the dead-grass ground, waiting for that first sign of

Spring to have already sprung. The winter fades

Into a faint chill in the bone marrow, with spring showers

And warm sun promising a hot, satisfying summer on the horizon.

Rebirth is the name of the game, spring springing forward time and

Everything has changed(again) because no one wants to be the same

All-year ‘round. Too easy to stay as you were, easier to become what you

Were before winter settled in.

Blooming flower trees and variations of such signify the

All-consuming beginning of spring. Spring is

Springing into summer, the hottest season of them all with sticky

Skin, friends fused together on bench swings with their

Ice pop sticky fingers leaving imprints on wood, memories, hearts.

Growing up up up(like the temperature on a hot midday) desperately

In the direction of the sun, hoping that the hot, ultraviolet rays

Shine in a way that bronzes the skin, does not burn the layers off which

Would leave a peeling, irate-red, unpleasant mess in the morning with

Plenty of cooling green aloe gel to slather on seared skin.

The nights are arid like the days, barely-there nightclothes providing

Little escape from the oppressive heat, waiting for someone to

Please fix the air conditioner because it’s becoming stifling,

And impossible to breathe in here. Summer flawlessly eases into the

Autumnal equinox with greens bleeding into reds oranges

Yellows and falling from trees to the ground.

Vagabond leaves raked into piles beg to be jumped in, raked again by

Fuming workers, chastising the handiwork of the jumper. Without noticing the

Movement into late fall, the desolate landscape gives way for

Winter to settle in once more, bundled up tight to the throat(again again).