The air is clean after the rain, and the buds on the trees grow larger, swell until they burst. Sleepy grass yawns brown and wakes up green, and the forsythia’s yellow-tasseled torches light the way out of a dark and dreary winter. Soon daffodils will join them, and then more displays of color will announce that winter’s lost its grip for good. At night tree frogs return and make their presence known by singing up a storm. As if on cue, a shower comes to wash away more brown and gray. It makes me sing! That’s how much I love spring!
pear trees celebrate
offer confetti blossoms
to a gentle breeze
Then again, there’s something about a summer night after the heat of day has passed and fireflies begin to dance that makes me question my first choice. Rich with exhalations from abundant life, one could get downright heady from the smells which hover in the air at dusk. And I am there to soak it in and listen to the katydids and crickets, watch the acrobatic bats chase insects I don’t even see, and sometimes (if I’m lucky) I will even sight a shooting star. Ask me now; I’ll tell you summertime’s sublime and can’t be beat.
when cicadas sleep
other insects take the stage
About the time I’ve had enough of hazy, hot, and humid, autumn comes and offers cooler days and nights. The trees breathe their relief with brilliant red and yellow sighs, and in the skies above the geese are V’ing their way south. But I will stay and save my flying for another day. I do so love this time of year, the smell of leaves and bonfires burning, the apple-cider-crisp bite in the air that sends me back inside to put another layer on. I could have sworn that I liked summer best—that is, until fall showed up.
shoot from percolating logs
dance with distant stars
And when at last the earth falls fast asleep, God tucks it in with a blanket of such perfection that it takes my breath away. In winter’s wonderland I am a child again, lost in the magic that is found on frosted glass and in the saddle sounds beneath my every step. Yes, I would dine on snowflakes every day, and I must say that winter is the finest time of year.
wait in line to get first tracks
fly like an eagle
Patti McCarty ©2009