Prehistoric ferns of yesteryear
Sharp at first touch, yield, then melt.
Decaying earth transforms
To fresh-scented beginnings:
Frost blooms on windows.
Tag: season
Birdsong
Sweet mute bird.
The cold season
Stays your tongue
And dampens
The fluttering
In your chest.
Yet you greet each day
With anticipation —
Awaiting
That first performance.
Spring
The ice thaws
Robins race on mud
Snowdrops rise
Season of Love
In the air, peppermint mixes with chocolate
Voyeurs pass with secret smiles
Caressing carols under their breaths
Carolina Wren
Carolina wren
Between the leaves of elm
Autumn fringed ochre