What frozen waters, held images of living creatures,
now thawed, give life to schools of fish
moving beneath the water;
moving Springs passed into Summer.
Bathed in heat she dips her wing in a cool pool of water, blue water as blue as the sky and you can’t tell which is which, still the sun burns bright when she flies through the sky.
The lark waits for the dawn of Autumn
for the sky never felt so light upon her wings as in Autumn
The crisp apple air and the white mountain peak,
still air, still to take one’s breath away,
Bright skies with a palate to hold up the fire
of leaves in the wind; the golden apple’s hidden
among orchards unseen covered with colors like a villain,
The still and serene green from the marsh takes away the horror
of such vibrant scenes. Searching remains untouched for the
summer’s bright haze, now that it’s over
we’re happier than ever.