Seasoning of the Seasons - 1. The Cycle of Seasons

Summer

The tired willow slumps over the bank of the trickling creek.

Parched leaves, parted too early from brittle branches,

drift in languid circles,

caught on once-submerged rocks protruding

from the bed of the drought-stricken waterway.

The willow’s roots reach ever deeper,

seeking sustenance for the clinging, curling leaves.

A kingfisher sways with the branches,

hoping for a meal caught in eddies

carved by the water when the river raged,

vibrant, exuberant,

fresh with spring’s energy.

Spring

The robin rustles its feathers,

perplexed by cold, white flakes falling through budding branches

only to melt and drip off shivering, huddled wings.

Solid precipitation turns liquid;

fuel for the sap flowing through the maple’s veins,

waiting to be tapped and turned into candy and syrup

for pancake breakfasts and sticky toddlers.

Warm gusts of wind dry the puffy bird as it builds its home,

preening with pride at the baby blue eggs nestled snugly within.

The mama settles in, waiting for the shells to crack like summer’s earth.

Winter

Snow-covered firs whisper to downy woodpeckers;

the trees’ breath swirls with cosmic energy

as they relay tales of ancient battles for forgotten kingdoms.

The woodpecker cocks its head, then provides

cadence like battle drums –

tap

tap

tap

wondering what relevance this hidden history has to his modern life.

The fir shakes its branches in annoyance at the bird’s ignorance.

Mistakes of the past must never be forgotten, the wind whispers.

A clump of snow nearly knocks the woodpecker off its perch,

and it darts upward, flying over the grove,

dropping red, spotted feathers like fall leaves.

Fall

The gnarled oak wears its leaves like a copper-colored cloak;

although threadbare in spots, it feels like home,

still useful and comfortable.

The garment, fitting for the totem of the old gods, stays in place

until it gradually wears out,

returning to the ground to molder into fertilizer,

fueling new, green shoots two seasons hence.

Downy geese nudge piles of reddish-brown leaves into comfy beds,

snuggling together when winter’s cold invades,

the unwelcome thief of Indian summer.