The Four People

That raised me.

A shitty spring, to a farmer that wants to sell manure is a wonderful crick in words. Rough and tumble, unpredictable, late, early, she comes when she wants. A perfect woman shoehorned out of womanhood. She'd tell me if she wanted me to say more about her - be careful, she may be just around the corner. Or, acres down the way, she runs on her own time.

A blazing summer to a farmer that wants to grow pot is a catch-22. The heat laze combined with the green haze combined with the warmth of summer days means the advertising of summer activities is misleading; summer is for resting. A lazy, perfect woman, allowed womanhood on a technicality. What a lovely time and way of life, to toast everybody to perfection, hold them, warm them, love them gently.

Autumn after summer - I don't have a sibling born in fall, only one who was almost namesake'd the season. Mysterious woman - allowed as the blueprint. Nobody knows what she should have been, and in that, her personality blooms. Shhh - let her be silently unknown and known. It's what she wants. Start layering and covering up for the next, trial your fashions before the next season.

Winter. My best friend. A love hate relationship, as -22 can bite - the real activity season. Despite being ineffable during the entire rest of the year, we all love her for the contrast in temperature. Layers, hot chocolate, wasn't Christmas made to celebrate each other? Would you be more comfortable opening gifts with sweat dripping from your nose? A woman made by comparison - this one's the goat. She doesn't care for the scorn three fourths out of the year. She's only cold to drive people together. A sweet, shy, beautiful old woman who's more than happy to wait her turn.