I am Winter

I AM SPRING

I am Spring,
but do not tread so lightly,
I am not easily broken.
I may be young, but once I parted concrete
when it tried to hide me from the sun.
I once grew in the desert, with not so much as dew
to whet my thirst, and still I thrived.

I am Spring,
but do not think me naïve. This may not be
my maiden voyage ‘cross the sea.
I am new, but I’m not weak.  I am promise,
but you, you are the gardener, the tiller of weeds.
Do not cut too quickly, for sometimes, I too,
resemble weeds, and even weeds have a purpose.

I am Spring,
the newborn child, the youthful spirit,
but do not discount my words.
For the trials of this life
have yet to wash away my memories
of lessons learned when I was Winter.

I am Spring,
and I am strong,
but without your careful tending,
there could be some mourning there.
But even with your tender care, sometimes
there still is sorrow felt. Seeds land in places
where roots cannot take hold, and others part soil
with promise bold, then fail to sprout
and wither there. All this, with no regard
to prayers you’ve whispered in the air.

I am Spring,
and I do not fool myself to think you will not grieve.
So shed one tear upon the ground, to nourish seeds
still struggling there.  Then plant again when sorrow fills
but half your day, or tend to crops abandoned and left to fend,
and your gift of love and grief of loss will not have been in vain.

I am Spring,
and I am promise and light, filled with potential
even you are too blind to see.  Walk in faith that a child will lead.
I AM SUMMER

I am Summer,
passion in full bloom, gardens
simmering in the mid-day sun.
But do not think my perfect blossom
is all that I am worth. Do not mistake
my beauty for peace; my passion, for pleasure. 
Do not judge my lack of shadows
as a sign I have no secrets to hide.

I am Summer,
The fruit of your labors, the labor of tending fruit
already born from tree and vine.  But remember,
some trees have no fruit to give.  Do not mistake
the fullness of my branches for inner beauty,
nor mistake my barren limbs for lack of initiative,
unwillingness to be a creator, inability to nourish fruit.

I am Summer,
volatile and strong,
but do not look at me with envy,
for its not so easy to burn without a vent,
nor hold this power deep within.  And its not so easy
to keep the sand lying still in opened hand,
daring love to fly to unknown lands, before the seed
takes root to stand.  Do not think the rocky ground
has nothing to share nor the fruitless tree,
nothing wise to say; And fruitless pines
can find someone to nourish, someone to shade;
and offer limbs for the lost to embrace; and barren elms
with branches bare can support a swing for children there.
As long as there’s life to share, I will not mourn
nor live impaired and hoard my love. 

I am Summer,
blistered and barren in the heat,
but do not look on me with pity
for much like shadows left unseen,
my passions boil in place,
waiting for the sun to start its downward arc. 
Then, you’ll see my shadows stretch like pregnant wombs,
and from my seed will sprout the newborn buds
of poetry.  My words form like children born
of Autumn love, the fruit of wisdom soon to be. 

I AM FALL

I am Fall
but do not hear this
and think of decline.
Do not mourn the loss of leaves
or fear the barren earth,
the skeleton trees of Winter.

I am Fall,
and there is no mourning here;
no worry of dirt on my clothing;
no shame of stepping out of bounds;
I will dive into crisp waters,
and there will be no fear of drowning
as my spirit prepares for the journey
inside myself, the journey to find
the gifts I have been offered,
and those that I must share.

I am Fall,
and everyday, I am finding
the gifts of this earth are all around me.
I’ve seen the brilliance of a tangerine sunset
reflected on the lake’s surface
until the horizon was but another wave among many.
I’ve heard the roar of blackbirds
zooming southward in formation,
and felt the coolness on my cheeks
as their shadows shielded my face from the sun. 
I’ve been inspired by the fire
dancing on half-clothed trees,
and been clothed by ember leaves
raining from the sky.  And now I, too,
am dancing to the tempo of the leaves
crackling beneath my bare feet, dancing
to my own ceremony, my acceptance
into the council of Winter. 

I am Fall,
and I am not afraid. 
There is no mourning here.




I AM WINTER

I am Winter
but do not hear this and feel pity,
nor fear my touch upon your skin. 
My bones may be bare, but they are reaching skyward.
My leaves, like clothing, lie crumpled at my feet,
but I am not shy.  Do not see my nakedness as shame,
for I stand with no secrets to hide,
and no place to hide them.

I am Winter,
The space between days, the rest between running,
the respite of the sun, the birthplace of the moon.
My body may be at rest, but my spirit
has not finished fluttering her wings.
I may be wise, but I’m not finished learning.

I am Winter,
and my tongue has learned
to be comfortable with silence
and to know when silence
is merely the absence of truth.
I will tell my story to those who are ready,
and will listen with open ears
when you are ready to tell your own.
I will not be afraid but will not judge you
for the fears you bring to my feet,
but do not forget that dreams, also,
need to be spoken aloud to be heard. 

I am Winter,
and I invite you now to bring your bones,
weary and worn, and rest them at my feet,
cast your fears into my branches,
and they will be shed in the Fall. 
Then tie your dreams to my outstretched limbs,
and, perhaps you’ll see them bloom in Spring.

I am Winter,
and if you have truly known me on your journey home,
you will not mourn my passing, for you will find
I’ll always be here when your day is done.  As for the children,
may there be no tears of mourning here,
only tears of thanksgiving for the stories we’ve told
and the lessons they’ve gained from our lives.