the seasons

Writing

The crescent moon begins parasail down to the lake frozen surface. The moon’s craters that mock eyes seem to be staring into themselves and falling constantly into themselves. The moon dances with itself across this frozen body of mud infested water. Spinning constantly around trying to find where it begins and if it ends: the moon is stuck parading across the skyline.

Truly winter is the kindest season to nature though some may call it cruel. Cascades of icicles are growing more and more as the frigid season continues.  Winter keeps our hearts warm though, covering the earth in forgetful snow that encases every blade of grass and the petals of wilted roses. The snow covered our pasts, it covered our wastelands. Rid us of our barren hearts and filled us with a new beginning. For when the snow melts a new beginning is awakened. Cherry blossoms bloom, new roses are born from the once barren ground. The grass is anew. In the snow you felt free in thought. The streets were emptied of all lost souls; there was peace when everything was frozen over. The moon was aware of itself no matter the season. Spring brought us surprises. Sudden showers that clutched at our roots screaming for us to grow and embrace our fresh starts.

Summer scared us. The sun barked loudly at our hearts. The heat was violent. The violence of man was contagious as the streets were soon to feel with the now rambunctious bunches. It brought broken images where ever the sun shined. Havoc lived in the summer. Summer felt like a woman with wet hair and an arm full of sunflowers that smelled unholy; whenever she is met words aren’t spoken as she lugged so many along. She intimidates all with her radiance, her smile mimics the sunshine itself. Summer scared me. There is always a darkness hidden away behind such radiance. Without the light: dark wouldn’t exist. Without summer I wouldn’t have winter.

Winter will always be my favorite, the moon and I cure one another’s loneliness as we stare into one another across frozen plains. The dark is lengthy and the night forever feels young. I lose myself in the night as the moon accompanies me on strolls through streets that were once polluted but now cleansed of the ones who fear the winter. I adore winter, the faint twinkle of snowflakes that pirouette down from clouds laden with them. I have the cold to embrace and long nights to navigate. Even though the winter is dark and bitter to others it feels warm to me.

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