What remedy is known to man
when season’s change so unexpectedly?
What balm has been invented to heal
I only know it’s so
that winter follows fall, and when the cold
seems just too much to bear, fair April
smiles upon us.
We soak up rays of August sun as if
summer were the only season
with an expertise for healing
Ah, but September is waiting in the wings,
a bit more mature but young enough
to celebrate with bonfires
The air’s acrackle with sparks
of falling leaves and fireflies. Apples
turn their taste to cider. The harvest in, we bask
in the realization
of the bounty of our blessings.
Contentment claims the senses. What is summer
without the knowledge of winter,
and the hope of Spring?
Therein is the truest anodyne. Time is bound
to do its thing. Our role in this great quest
for wings is to jump right in and join