The season of growth moves us all

rapidly, slowly, sometimes

a little at first then maybe a lot

The sickening lurch of death subsides

and we rise, and rise, and rise again

taking toward the late March sun

And as the petals open, dreamy and aloof

Father Time convenes with Mother Earth

Old lovers, sharing a wink and a smile

I inhale.

The fragrance of floral deities

Permeates,

Leaping

Into the crux

Of my heart.

I listen to

The harmonious accord

Of birds and nature,

All cognizant

Of a new dawn's

Composition,

An opera

Of birth divine.

Renewal and rejuvenation,

Simultaneous,

Like symphonies triumphant

In life’s revolving

Progression.

Hope rebounds,

Taunting my heartstrings,

An impetus

Dancing wildly,

Marking a chance

To begin anew.

Spring's abundance

Seizes,

A frenzied

Stampede revitalizing

My life

Yet again.

All is well with my soul.

Cynthia Calder, 03.13.25

There is vision and there is visionary.

I look—I look hard.

Immaculate skies waft toward me at 475 nm.

A blanket of clear blue is beautifully clear, but cruelly dishonest.

Still and quiet, the silence hides the turbidity of a roar behind it.

What will follow, I foresee, is black and intangible,

But it will be delivered as flak.

Thus, it means to kill me.

The missiles are aimed at me by persons I do not know.

And they don’t know me.

Oh, but our nations know each other very well.

Clear skies are quiet and warm and calm.

But death is noisy and black and, having no wavelength,

Absorbs all living wavelengths.

The birth of Man was white—all colors, all possibilities, all at once, all the time.

Prismatic unfolding was our history.

But black is our death.

That’s the way I see it.

A visionary vise

Holds me fast as all fades to black...

Spring has sprung,fall has fell,summer will simmer,not sure about winter.

The problem with winter is the unpredictability of the predictable.

I tried to bury old man winter this winter,but he kept coming back.

Unfortunately he buried me.

I'm now just thawing out,and crawling out of my hole.

Winter blues are morphing into red,yellow and green,ive come out of hibernation and my stomach is grumbling.

Now it's spring.My foot isn't on the brake so much.

Now I can go cruising for fast food.

Not food that's cooked fast from freezer to freezer.

Will i drive faster to find fast food?

I wouldn't want to miss an entry to my favourite restaurant.

Why the colour's red and yellow for some places?

Yellow is an annoying color,especially when green

gives you the nod to go.

Then there's red.

Like the colour of lots of shops.

Is that why I slow down and stop at the red and yellow restaurant?

I don't recall seeing many green restaurants,I guess i'm use to driving right by them.

Was it planned?Is it planted in our minds?

Amongst concrete and steel a nest built for chicks born in Spring overrides mans insistence to ruin this world

Ice that makes life dormant cracks and melts to have reeds sway in running water again

Memories of your blood in Springtime when your world was new and eternity was yours forever.

Winter's night falls,

absolute darkness,

drowning out the light,

swallowing it down

to

the

very

pinpoint

of existence.

The cruel words you uttered

resound in my mind

as I sink

b

e

l

o

w

the damp, freshly-turned earth.

My skin is frozen,

numbed by the cold,

longing for the warmth of your touch.

But you willingly left me

to die here

alone

entombed in my quiet

despair.

Phantom fingers brush my cheek

with tender concern

as my heart goes to sleep.

Icy cold surrounds my soul

as welcoming blackness

calls me home.

One day,

the sun will shine

again

and bathe my face with rays of bliss.

The sweet spring breeze will softly sigh,

its quiet whisper

once more

coaxing color

into my pallid ivory features.

But,

until then,

in this shallow grave

I wait

for the clouds to disappear,

and for love's gentle thaw

to revive me.

While summer nights stretch out my thoughts, the winter subdues them. Its big wide hands smothering the sky, it brings them to the boil and to turmoil, so that they spill from every crevice like buds from new earth.

When the sun comes out, the buds blossom or die. I stop looking inwards for answers, and find myself kicked from the caves of my own brain, which whirrs and grumbles, and back into the company of those I have missed. Warmth takes over, and my insides cool, the condensation starts to melt.

Spring then, is calm, is cool and sunny and bright. It is the page that turns.