Seasons of the Streets- Essay About Homelessness

Winter-

By the first snowfall, they have disappeared from sight--fits right in with the rest of Winter. I used to wonder where the homeless people that once crowded the streets went, theorizing that perhaps they were under one of the many snow piles that collected by the side of the road. Most people don’t even think of them; out of sight, out of mind. The homeless during the Winter remind me of the Canadian Geese they once shared the parks with; except their wings have been clipped, so their flock deserted them for warmer skies. When I look far out into the blizzardy snowfields, I can almost see them, traipsing through the blankets of snow. Always, they’re leaving, walking away from the cold. Though, when I blink, they’re forgotten again.

Winter is the season of vanishing.

Spring-

Everything has expanded, to fit the beings newly created within it. We care for the new life that this season brings, and forget about the already-made beings that still need us. The world around us thaws and awakens all at once, even those we have forgotten. In Spring, homeless people are the ruins of our society. They were forgotten somewhere down the road, and now they’ve become part of the environment we left them in, covered in frost and twisted vines that creep across their faces. Homeless people have awakened from their slumber, yet we force them to drift back into their endless sleep still.

Spring is the season of forgotten awakenings.

Summer-

How many desperate faces have I passed in my air conditioned car? I can’t remember. The waves of summer heat caused their faces to melt from my memory like the wax of a candle. They sink into the sidewalks; no one’s willing to pull them out. Pedestrians walk past homeless people without understanding of their presence--to them, they’re already submerged in the cement. And I am no different. The homeless became nothing but recurring faces in my dreams. In Summer, I learned to walk past them as if they were the streets themselves. When I did see them; they were fragmented; half of them hidden under the concrete. As Summer went by, I realized that the only thing that allowed their presence was the streets, and even those were swallowing them up into their depths.

Summer is the season of the unnoticed.

Fall-

The end descends on us before we are ready, in the same way a cat pounces on a mouse. Dead leaves fall off the trees as if our lives are one big play, and they are the closing curtains. Mother Nature lets out an aching sigh ad tells us it's time to go home. Yet, the homeless still stay. Unlike every other creature, they have no home to go back to. Still, everything ends in the same way it always has, and the homeless live in the end, the empty void between the end of Fall and home. For the homeless, there’s never an end;Fall is the beginning.

Fall is the season of beginnings and ends.