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Seasons in Flight
Spring survives gray winter gloom, Iím hoping it arrives here soon. Promises of summerís glow; weeks are fast, the minutes slow. Fallís the time Iím feeling old, warns my bones of coming cold. Winterís dancing to a song days are dark, nights are long. Donít you wish today was spring and hummingbirds a song to sing? I wonder what that song would be, matching their sateen beauty. Iíd picnic in an aspen stand, feeding hummingbirds by hand; their wings as cool as melting snow winter has no place to go. Summer smiles on the Stellar Jay, a blabber mouth with a lot to say, he steals and lies and nags all fall, his crested plume stands proud and tall. Blue as water he is such a sight, get close enough and youíll see white it streaks across his face so faint; airbrushed on with heavenís paint. When summer ends itís hard to say a rainy night or a windy day. Autumn hawks are still around they watch for movement on the ground; and if you see a feather fall from that hawk above it all and somehow catch it in your grasp, then God has talked to you at last. Winter finds itís cold way back flocks of crows turn a cold sky black, they seem to form a flying heart; I guess to warn of winters start. Hearts last only a short time; I thought of all lost friends of mine, the crows then scattered to the trees somehow surviving winterís freeze. Springs alive when winter dies, birds return to the warmer skies. Singing summer songs so sweet; seasons have their own heartbeat. Fall sneaks in like a midnight thief, fresh and cool but all too brief; surrendering to winterís hand, when icy fingers choke the land.
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