seasons in technicolor
winter
a crystal forest
of sleeping trees
creaking
instruments of the wind
the sun's kiss
brings icicles
in the early morn
while
we sleep
with the earth
and
dream
turning to each other
for warmth
as the snow comes
and lady wind sings
her somber melody
we are prepared
hot chocolate
wine
a freezer full of harvest
we dance
by the firelight
hold each other tight
through the deep
frozen nights
there are some
who will say winter
is about death and hibernation
i say it is for love
for the nights are long
are they not?
cold wood floors
shock our bare feet
as we run
for the promised warmth
of our bed
wrapped up safe
in a feather comforter
flannel sheets
the heat of your skin
like a magnet
hold me close
never let go
i can hear the gales blow
feel the blanket of snow
cover our home
natures silensor
but i am safe
in your arms
stolen moments
while the world hibernates
we love
tender
fierce
heat our home
with love alone
a winter filled
with
la petit mort
rising to the heavens
while the world sleeps
hibernates
waits
spring
sun
water
my fingers deep in the fragrant earth
the sweat of
hard work
the seeds of natures currency
life grows
spring flows
quickly through time
a raging river
summer
fireflies
the sweet smell of fresh cut grass
unforgettable primal scent of tomatoes
eating cherry tomatoes warmed by the sun
until the juice runs down my shirt
heat so heavy with humidity it feels like a blanket
beach days
riding the waves
sand between my toes
sunburn
cool breeze laced with salt
hot dogs
fireworks
barefoot days
watch for bees
summer burns hot and fast
with the knowledge that it will not last
weed the garden
day after day
hard work
will always pay
the gods bring
thunder storms
to wash away the sweat
clean and ready
for bed
autumn
the hard work of harvest
complete
we dance
eat
add that layer of fat for warmth
and a little something extra
to hold on to
at night
drink
be merry
have fun
campfires
crisp air kissing my cheeks
the taste of an apple
explodes on my tongue
leaves falling
wind blowing
plants dying
bursts of air from my lungs
floating in the breeze
on a cold morning
letting the chickens out
to pick the garden clean
happy little raptors unaware
winter comes
time to sleep
dream
love
for winter is cold and long
*Authors note: Vivaldi is my absolute favorite composer, hands down. I found a soul deep love for the violin when I read "A Girl of the Limberlost" as a tween. Some dusty, old forgotten book I unearthed at my Grandmother's house on a lazy summer day. While I can write stories in the traditional form (I promise), I'm going through a poetry phase and classical music always brings forth memories in flashes for me. Some good, some bad but always in vivid color and scent. This is what I wrote with the music cranked up and my mind open. Thank you for the challenge, I've never put into words the visions his art brings forth.