Leaves grow as the biting air yields to warm sunlight.
Buds open to blossoms. Promises of new life. A continuation of what was.
The sky is filled with a sweet scent. Sweet like a child rolling on the newly uncovered ground, snow melted all away, with bits of grass in her hair, a building giggle coming from a mouth with pink, air chapped lips and cheeks rosy with the crisp air of spring.
Falling flowers, fair, fresh, signal a change.
Long, elegant arms will soon be heavy with fruit.
Shiny apples, red as gems,
plucked from the branches. Treasures in themselves.
Jewels carried in the hands of a woman with long, fire colored hair. Glimmering eyes picking the perfect one to savor. Hand wiping away perspiration, she bites into the treat on this hot, almost but not quite too bright day.
Thankful for the leaves,
providing shade.
Brisk breezes cannot stay away. Not for long, anyway.
Colors explode from the once green leaves.
Inspiring awe, they are flaming red. Orange and yellow, golden like the once summer sunlight.
They are everywhere.
Soon they will dry and fade. The wind that once rattled through the branches and made the leaves dance and sparkle with life in the light of the day, will steal them away from the strong, determined branches.
They will ride the wind to the ground, leaving the branches as empty arms, full of knots.
They will crunch under the feet of a woman rich with memories of many autumns past. A woman who is awe inspiring herself, the wrinkles of her face marks of honor. Her grey hair unkempt in the fluttering air. Her hands, hands that guided and protected the hands of her children, guided and protected the hands of her grandchildren, will be busy.
Picking up the pieces.
Frigid.
Ice covered branches.
Empty.
Leaves will grow as the biting air yields to warm sunlight.
Buds will open to blossoms. Promises of new life. A continuation of what was.
Buds open to blossoms. Promises of new life. A continuation of what was.
The sky is filled with a sweet scent. Sweet like a child rolling on the newly uncovered ground, snow melted all away, with bits of grass in her hair, a building giggle coming from a mouth with pink, air chapped lips and cheeks rosy with the crisp air of spring.
Falling flowers, fair, fresh, signal a change.
Long, elegant arms will soon be heavy with fruit.
Shiny apples, red as gems,
plucked from the branches. Treasures in themselves.
Jewels carried in the hands of a woman with long, fire colored hair. Glimmering eyes picking the perfect one to savor. Hand wiping away perspiration, she bites into the treat on this hot, almost but not quite too bright day.
Thankful for the leaves,
providing shade.
Brisk breezes cannot stay away. Not for long, anyway.
Colors explode from the once green leaves.
Inspiring awe, they are flaming red. Orange and yellow, golden like the once summer sunlight.
They are everywhere.
Soon they will dry and fade. The wind that once rattled through the branches and made the leaves dance and sparkle with life in the light of the day, will steal them away from the strong, determined branches.
They will ride the wind to the ground, leaving the branches as empty arms, full of knots.
They will crunch under the feet of a woman rich with memories of many autumns past. A woman who is awe inspiring herself, the wrinkles of her face marks of honor. Her grey hair unkempt in the fluttering air. Her hands, hands that guided and protected the hands of her children, guided and protected the hands of her grandchildren, will be busy.
Picking up the pieces.
Frigid.
Ice covered branches.
Empty.
Leaves will grow as the biting air yields to warm sunlight.
Buds will open to blossoms. Promises of new life. A continuation of what was.
