Twisted Seasons, Twisting Life

The green pushed out of the brown, into life. The brown, twisted, dark, and grey is appreciative. It finally has some color, it's something new. It is no longer a colorless, almost dead wood. No, it has become spring itself, personified of course.

Spring heated itself to summer. The green melted into a dry brown, only to be given its color back through rain. Sweat trickled down the trees, on to the ground. Sleepy eyes flickered, sleepier backs stretched. Smiles and water and sweat mixed and intertwined and melted. Flowers popped up, and down, with the monsoon.

Rain splashed, rain poured, rain was personified into cats and dogs. Rain came into the ears, the eyes, the house. It carried with it the happiness and joy of summer. It brought the tears and cries and pain, home. It cleaned and washed and scrubbed, more than any Spring Cleaning ever could.

Dry, crackled leaves stooped crying for water. They called and called the rain that would never come. Dry throats, drier tongues. Dirty shoes, dustier suns. Dry cold, and thick jackets, all found their way home. Red cheeks, cracked lips. Every super market has run out of lip balms. The sold are busy, palming the way into life.

Cold sky, wet clouds, and twisted brown becomes dead again. The harsh sun, cold as ever. Evolution is taking place. Numb nose, red ears, clatter along with the teeth. Dead flowers, a funeral for all. Dead trees and the dead grass, begging for a burial that isn't frozen. The bears sleep, and the hares moan. Who does not want this on going blizzard to end?

The green pushes out of the brown, into life. Twisting and turning, interrupting the sullen. Twisting and turning, joy seeps in. Twisting and turning, slowly and steadily, the seasons twist out your life. It's spring again. 

It's November!

November, is a lovely month.
It sounds of crunchy leaves and thanksgiving greetings.
It smells of warm, hot chocolate and old, old books.
It tastes of cold turkey and yucky cranberry sauce.
It feels like worn out boots and a new, large sweater.
It makes your arms tingle, longing for a warm hug.
It makes your frozen, red nose feel as if it's brighter than Rudolph's.
It's a month of warm, fluffy socks and big blankets.
It's the first month since May you can actually go into a sleep so deep, it's like hibernation.
It's a month of crinkly fires and noisy relatives.
It's a happy, thankful month.
It's the month before the dark, horrible December but after the discomforts of October.
There are no children knocking for candy you don't have.
There are no longer any rotting pumpkins, whose only purpose in life was to be carved then thrown away.
The days aren't yet too short to do much of anything.
The music is good, company is adequate.
It's not sweltering hot nor yet freezing cold.
It's the beautiful month of watching everything that came together in spring, fall apart.
It's melancholy and quite.
It's a month for thinking and reading.
It's a month for singing Christmas Carols at the top of your lungs, a month too early.
It's chapped lips, and dozens of lip balms.
Moisturizer is a girl's best friend.
It's the month to look back at the past year, and wonder how time went by so fast.
Goodbye's aren't here yet, but they're getting nearer.
It's a month to discover new music, and wish you knew how to play the piano.
It's a month to remove the nail polish, and look at your finger nails, raw and real.
It's before the frozen toes, and after sweat buds on the upper lip.
It's time for layering millions of clothes, and whimsical day dreams.
It's time for roasted walnuts and Bon Iver.
It's time for musings and the last butterflies.
It's finally almost time for another fresh start, a clean slate.
It's time for re-watching Snow White and trying to have a conversation with a radical grandparent.
It's time for bitting your lower lip, trying keep it warm.
It's time to let down your hair, lift up your chin, and think with your head.
It's November.