The Way I See The Seasons Poem by Brooke Harris

The bright, warm sun
glints of the cold, white beauty of the snow.
A grey wolf trots the land,
looking for prey to attack.
The wind blows the white
snow into exotic swirls,
that pass before my eyes.
The mountain peaks are
wearing their caps,
reading for the night.
The coldness seeps through my
gloves and numbs all of my fingers.
I clench them into fists and rub
them quickly together, trying to heat then up.
I turn from my northern window
to the east, where everything is completely different.

The warm, hot sun
beats down on the hazy pavement,
warming my entire body.
I strip myself of my winter things
and open my arms wide, embracing
the humid heat.
The rays of light, lick their
way across flesh that
greedily absorbs it.
I laugh out into the promising
day, overflowing with joy.
I watch the dust sweep the land and
raise my hand, shielding my eyes from its sting.
I turn the other way, leaving behind my desert
road leading into oblivion, to face a new day.

There is no sun here, though there is light.
The clouds float before it’s warm rays,
blanketing the hot globe in chilling coldness.
The wind blows, hard. Almost knocking me
to the ground with its force.
Leaves are whipped into a frenzied spiral,
swirling around my face like a mini tornado.
My breath leaves my hot mouth, clouding
in front of my face as I pull my warm jacket on over my cold body.
I spot a pile of leaves in my neighbor’s yard and run over,
throwing my body into the wet pile.
As I rise and disentangle myself from
the veiny sheets, they stick to my face,
and plaster themselves to my body.
I look up at the clouds that suddenly break open with rain.

The wet drops fall on my upturned face.
My mouth is open to catch the glistening drops,
and my eyes are closed, savoring its cool feel.
I look back down at the land which has changes completely.
The ground is bursting at its seams with flowers
of every shape and color imaginable. The visible fragrance coats the air.
The trees are heavy with ripe, succulent fruits,
and their leaves are a charming green.
I’m standing in a field of clover, surrounded
by Mother Nature’s sweetest embrace.
It is nice here in this silent, secluded world
that I share with the forest creatures.
I can’t help but look in wonder at a land so
fertile with a promising future I can’t wait to behold.
I lay back an close my eyes, savoring the different seasons.