Not so long ago, the white, shrouded landscape sharpened and faded to gray-dations. True, a colonial brick structure seems a welcomed contrast, and even, intrusion. Beside it, slender, child-like branches, reach upward . . .
Sun, maybe. Golden treasure. Seeking a gathering of spring blossom, beckoning Mother, tentatively discovering the return of the robin . . .
When all is blustery and frozen, when light diminishes in short hours, when we hear the howl of the wind like a lone wolf hunting prey in the forest, still, we wait on this landscape of weathered souls.
In, around, through . . .
Until the long winter recedes like the tide, flakes becoming river raised to bank, forging away to that place, unknown, while the fall landscape emerges again for a time. Remember that time? Harvests? Halloween? Does it seem so long ago?
Sometimes . . .
And then one day, the land bursts with rare green shoots and bright yellow heads emerge from the fertile, wet earth. Effortless. Sudden?
Like a birth.
Yet, can we recall the bulbs were near us in the meadow, resting, as we cavorted in snow?
Even now, brushing a nodding bright bloom, recall the summer of sun. Breeze tousling cheeks, rays warming stiff shoulders, as if it were with us all days . . .
It is, in my best recollection, an ebbing, eternal season, every season . . .
– Michelle Zimmerman
Note: I have included this poem in the The WordPress Daily Post Daily Prompt: