Seasons of Love

 

Spring

Green veins thread the cracked earth.

A shy yes wakes under the ribs,

pushing through last year’s frost.

We practice beginning—small, stubborn—

hands in the soil, naming what we’ll keep.

Summer

A breeze kisses the sweat of your sun-drenched skin;

time loosens its belt and breath tastes of salt.

Laughter lingers on the porch steps,

fruit softens on the counter,

and we learn the ease of being chosen, again and again.

Autumn

We open our hands and let the bright things fall.

What’s true doesn’t argue; it arrives like clear air.

We count only what still warms in the palm,

thank what left,

and travel lighter toward ourselves.

Winter

Snowflakes silently fall on a moonlit night,

the wind lightly drifting through the trees.

Inside, a kettle hums; the walls hold their glow.

In the hush, the heart’s small hammer is audible—

a steady proof that staying is also a journey.

Coda

Love is not one weather but the turning,

a circle faithful to its change.

Whatever the sky is doing,

it keeps a door—

and a light—open.