I'm told friendships don't last forever. Some are just for seasons.
If our season is winter, I'm clinging to it like a living room Christmas tree you keep forgetting to toss.
The kind that just sit there,
Rotting.
Withering.

Winter's so great you forget about all the downsides
You've got christmas, snow, hot cocoa
You forget about wet socks, frozen car doors, the cold, the sun setting early.
You forget winter has flaws
Eventually the snow melts
I have to keep winter.

a snowball in the freezer.
I check on it every morning
And I leave it there,
keeping it frozen while little snowflakes fall off slowly as the seasons change.

Then,
Winter comes again
The snow is back
My socks are wet but my snowball is thriving.
New snow blankets it and i hold it till my hands turn purple
And when the winter goes away again
My little peice of winter goes back in the freezer.

Flowers bloom under salmon pink sunsets
grass grows and runs away with itself
newly born baby birds fly or fall
Yes, spring is finally in the air but
why am I so unimpressed with it all?

I yearn for cold, the crisp cool wind
my tennis shoes rustling the leaves
as I walked to her house where
the main street ends.

Autumn is my Master who beckons
me to stand tall against the sometimes
bitter coldness that stays around and on
into the fall.

Look at you,
All happy.
The reason?
Easy,
Not me.

As much as I enjoy
Your smile
I see I can't make it
Nor be the reason
For it's appearance.

I'll stop forcing it,
Once all I saw was smiles.
Now I only see a blank stare,
As if I drain all happiness,
From you?
No let's not think that
But
It's what my mind says,
Could it be true.

The once look of
Happiness
Joy
Smiles
The warm feeling of
Spring and Summer

Now the feeling of
Uncomfortability
Discontent
Nothing
The cold feeling of
Winter

Well where is
Autumn
That's the feeling I want
The one I seek
The one that seems
It will never
Manifest

Winter sleeps both cold and deep,
while spring is a madcap scramble,
summer sings and jogs along,
but fall is a definite amble,
dropping hints of cooler times
with every leaf and bramble

That first, frosty, autumn morn
I ventured out into the woods.

It was crisp and cold,
My breath hung momentarily in the air.

The trees had shed their leaves In the windy days
And were now carpeting the forest floor.

My first step onto the russet and gold carpet
Crunched so satisfyingly and each step the same.

I set off at a brisk pace,
Leaves crackling and rustling underfoot; so pleasing to the ear.

I continued my walk across this golden carpet
Accompanied by the leaves’ susurration

And remembrances of childhood,
Playing amongst the fallen leaves.

You are my late September,  
When spring has long been forgotten  
With its newness, lush green and raindrops.  
The rambunctious giddy splendor of sweaty palms  
And arterial palpitations.  

You are not summer, hot and dripping,  
Air thick, smothering with inescapable heat,  
Panting breaths and desperate lips.  
Perhaps once or twice as we revolved around each other,  
If night airs could tell tales.  

You are not winter,  
Though we have shared Decembers.  
There is no place for you in my snow tipped trellises.  
No coordinate in my circumference that would hold you in ice,  
Frozen and forgotten under rippled white blankets,  
Though perhaps, under wrinkled white sheets.  

You are not fall,  
When autumn turns the ground dirt and dull.  
Trees shedding their raiments  
And reaching naked for the sky.  
Surrendering to the inevitability of winter’s approach,  
Drawing sap down to their rootwork,  
Waiting for another spring  

You are my late September,  
The earth still warm between my toes  
With the remembrance of summer suns.  
More vibrant than spring, and wiser than summer.  
Leaves full of tree-song  
Brilliant gold and fire,  
Blood orange and melancholy yellows,  
Blazing in defiant glory.