Four Seasons of New Life

by Alice Fisher, age 11
Four Seasons of New Life

“A soft breeze,

Bright sun,

a shine,

and pollen or a sneeze.”

Hidden Music

A soft breeze,

Bright sun,

a shine,

and pollen or a sneeze.

 

When spring comes around,

all the babies are safe and sound.

New and filled,

with life,

wonder,

joy,

and    awe.

 

A silent peace on the chicks

young rabbits,

new grass,

bright flowers,

a silence called awe.

 

Broken only by the sweet song of birds,

learning to sing,

Small peeps,

signalling the beat.

 

A  quiet orchestra,

conducted by the trees,

in harmony with others,

dancers in the silent breeze.

Bright flowers,

born from seeds.

 

A soft hum,

brought by bees,

fighting against the sweet wind,

with yellow rays jumping down.

 

An ocean,

of greens and stems,

a rainbow,

crashing onto the soft wet grass.

Rumbling,

in a soft sweet hum

A raging war of color.

 

Green string,

beaded with shining crystals,

littered with clear diamonds.

An elegant necklace,

from the sky.

 

Soft wet earth,

holding these precious gems,

selling them for sound,

the life of the orchestra,

blowing in the sweet,

warm,

wet,

bright,

air.

 

Vivid colors,

that pop up,

yellow peeps,

pink sways,

blue streaks in the air,

with their beautiful song.

 

Bright buzzing balls,

filled with sunshine,

the stripes of a robber,

stealing the show,

from all else.

 

The gleeful shouts,

the after party,

welcoming the whole cast into their home,

even the warm

yet cool rain,

refreshing us all

as they run around together.

 

Climbing trees,

their thick trunks,

swinging on the papa branches,

while the mothers nurture all the new life,

birds,

leaves,

buds opening to blossoms,

and their own babies.

Twigs.

 

A raging war,

a battle,

between cool winter,

and a

warm summer.

 

Cold Water

 

A hot blaring sun,

pouring down,

covering us,

making us red and brown,

covered in crystal beads,

diamonds brought from spring.

 

You see waves in the air,

mimicking cool winds from past seasons,

the winds we all wished for,

filling us,

we would drink that in instead,

instead of ice cold water.

 

A cool sea

a pool,

the shade of a tree,

smooth cool lotion,

hot air,

bright light,

cold water.

 

Dripping,

warm water,

from my forehead,

cold water,

cooling us down.

 

We wilter in the sun,

saved by cold water,

but we don’t care,

we choose to run.

 

Us and plants alike

saved only by cold water,

wishes for winter,

once you have what you wish for,

you want the other.

 

Us,

summer,

heat,

sun,

saved,

by cold water.

 

New life,

Sun,

Beach balls,

Cold water dips,

All born again in summer.

 

Panting dogs,

hot sand,

cold water,

refreshing ice,

come again the jelly fish,

sweet green grass,

as you slip away to the dark,

the darker fall,

get lead into whiteness,

into a long frozen sleep.

 

The Down

 

When they come tumbling down,

falling fast,

trying to grasp,

clinging on to empty air,

as they flutter,

softly like the wings of a paper butterfly,

twisting and turning,

graceful dancers,

the biggest performance ever.

 

For a while they prepare,

staying still and stiff,

so they can put their whole life,

into this,

this one moment.

 

Then it comes,

new costumes,

green to

brown

red

orange

a level up,

a new show.

 

Then they rest,

after their long tiring performance,

on the ground,

a long sleep,

they rest and disappear,

to prepare their young,

for their own journey.

 

The beautiful play,

the story,

the papers spread it,

saying,

The Down, The Down,

Oh, The beautiful down.

The graceful downfall,

of that generation.

 

Where they spend,

their whole short lives,

preparing,

putting their all into this show,

like young kids.

 

Kids who spend long hours,

on their toes,

in leos,

bowing,

up and down,

bending,

their long graceful legs,

to bow down again,

and end.

 

A Rich Whiteness

 

Small pearls,

mimicking,

the leaves,

another generation,

of beautiful dancers,

a long ballet,

disappearing in the spring,

gone in the summer,

creating a soft,

wool,

cozy,

blanket,

wrapping us all,

creating fluffy marshmallows of fun.

 

Tiny hills,

hills that laugh,

and giggle,

and  hills that are covered in foot prints,

running up,

racing down,

while the hills scream with pleasure.

 

A soft pillow,

where angels sleep,

but never make their beds,

where kids rest their heads,

and their excitement,

creating these good natured beings,

these sweet angels,

blending in the white snow,

in their white gowns,

granting their wish.

 

Tiny pieces of glitter float down,

lighting the whole world,

like the dewy diamonds,

that spring brings,

changing the grass,

out of it dress,

red to white,

ready for a ball,

winter ready,

for its prince charming.

 

A gown,

white tile,

blowing,

flowing,

in the harsh,

demon wind,

blowing things away,

but the angels,

keep the joy,

and the winter becomes,

as warm and bright and refreshing,

as the whole changing year.

 

A Whole Changing Year

 

In a whole,

a year,

12,

4,

Life.

 

Life?

Year?

The same,

it is a whole life,

that happens in one whole year,

a long year,

a short life,

but then all things new come along,

same routine,

same show,

more interesting each time,

winter wants spring,

summer wants winter.

 

A continuous show,

never breaking,

featuring,

two ballets,

beaches,

and an orchestra,

with its own dancers,

dancing sunbeams,

flashy rays,

is the world ever not a dance,

one long big wonderful,

happy dance,

peaceful or violent,

strong or soft,

smooth or rough,

whipping or slipping.

 

A peaceful slide,

a violent wind,

a peaceful scene,

violent cries of “gone!”

A violent shake,

a peaceful fall,

a peaceful swim,

a violent sunbeam.

 

A strong wind,

a soft glide,

a strong scent,

a soft grass,

a strong fall,

a soft land,

a strong glare,

a soft water.

 

A smooth twirl,

a rough texture,

a smooth flake,

a rough fall,

a smooth sway,

a trunk,

a smooth water,

a rough burn.

 

A whipping wind,

slipping into water,

they have it all,

seasons,

anything you want,

all to your heart’s desire,

maybe,

maybe that’s why the show never stops,

a continuous dance,

because we like it,

repeating,

we know,

we can always be sure of one thing,

the circle of life,

the nature of animals,

the dance,

the way,

of the seasons.

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