seasons of change.

spring. spring is my best season. the flora is alive and so am i. my soul is reignited with the souls of newborn bunnies and puppies and lambs. the plush grass is soft on the soles of my feet, carrying, carrying me into the slight breeze, fresh with the smell of new leaves, fresh dew. the breeze, the bubbling creek, they call my name. i respond, respond to the invitation to dance. dance with the breeze, with the plush grass, the newborn babes of the forest and the fields. the birds sing our song and the rabbits keep time. we dance the spring away. we are happy and free.

summer. summer comes next. the bright sun colors my skin as red as the tomato i pick from the vine. i bite into it, the tangy fruit melting in my mouth. i lay on a blanket in the grass. i smell faintly of coconut sunscreen and lemon juice. i take a dip in the water and i am one with nature again... a dip in the cool creek, a watering hole that many before me have drowned their sorrows in. their summertime sadness. the minnows circle my legs, the creek flora nudging me along. the cool water caresses my skin. my skin is red hot but the water is blue cool and i feel alive. 

fall. fall invigorates my soul. i wear my uggs and crunch the newly fallen leaves. i mourn them but their time is over, and they have taken their leave of this world gracefully. the bunnies i danced with in the spring are bouncing happily through the dead grass, off to their burrows in anticipation of new young. the spider in the corner of my bedroom is spinning, spinning, spinning a web. i eat a granny smith apple and sit on a blanket under a tree. it is red and orange and yellow and beautiful. it is dying gracefully. fall is cleaning out the old, and so am i.

winter. i kneel in a church pew and pray. the leaves are all dead now, and their fallen leagues have been covered in a thick blanket of stark white snow. dots of color exist in little holly berries and a fat man's big coat. the spider in the corner is welcome company. i keep him warm in my little bedroom and read stories of ages past to him. ripe tomatoes and granny smith apples are replaced with peppermint canes and tart cranberries. i sip my cocoa and think back on my year. the chill in the air doesn't blind me from the truth; seasons of change are here to stay, seasons of growth are too.