April ends dreamingly captured in May’s allure of colorful promise and Sun drenched hope of June’s fellowship aplenty. Awash in life filled to robust measure seasoned with cinnamon spice and overwhelmed by haughty blossom. Nights longer than naps allow, I fall pray to the whispers and meandering reorganization of timely sent program change. Forgotten all that needs forgetting, open to the grand canal of wisdom and the gulf stream of unfinished words, set upon my tongue pre launch. What value has wanton expression but the timid or not so candid exercise of attentions gathered? A pawn so curtly expended and blushing as the Queen leaves her rightful place to wander.

How rapacious of Summer’s head dress displayed in advance of noon day rise. Surprise so sweet the fall of many to find in vision the reason for our collective madness. When did we sit so cautiously, in thought, inured by the Sun’s cleansing touch upon skin so white it explained Winter to a warm heart. No dash of radiant emotion or glow of palpable fate would save them from the dour dose of dusty clouds found penned in darkened scroll the incantations of romance. Why moist rose colored lips that match my glasses were doomed to express the calamitous imagination of twenty. Gone so swiftly retired promising nothing but taking it with it the baleful smells of cut grasses and the swelling unpleasureable swelter that the ground offered as breeze.

So soon left wanting the cleansing relief of sweat upon standing brow. Not the chill but the night approaching mentions with each passing star the coming cool and handfuls of harvest ripe. What sandman torches the dust to replace it with Autumn drops so large and sweet that the icy touch upon the hand’s back sponsors thought of sweaters and mulled wine in hearth kilned kitchens. This wind is true and hints at the cool night’s pleasure at bringing north facing slope to eastern rise. Fall, having done its work each green worker asks gravity’s assistance to sleep and live again come March’s Ide. What shame to heat the day so pleasantly then steal the same warmth from each heart by night’s fall. Still the noise of day as many prepare for the days when time slows its promenade.

Then the test of hearts and constitution wields its sword against the will of man. As winter calls to the Spring come don’t leave us long, we are left without green leaf having to dream once again imagining rebirth, growth and replanting. What launched on august whisper now shouts hearty as the shutters bang and the trees scratch against the roofshake. What icy nightmare awaits as we struggle to remain awake seeking the last breath of embers red hope. But all quests end and some not so speedily lead to the safety of old man’s reason as kindling bones and fatty bottom find embrace in woolen wreath wrapped thrice about. Day’s uncounted shed their hold upon our workings until suddenly that smell of rose upon the wind wakes us once more to the celebration of life’s cyclical promise, granting hopeful realization to frozen feet and wind tired eyes. We wake again to call of unfurled blossom and nectar’s tasty answer. To life we must until time bids us leave to the land of waking dreams.