Winter

Crunch, Crunch, Crunch

The sound of snow beneath my feet.

I feel the cold rush against my face.

And flip my hair back and forth.

The white snow glistens in the sunlight.

And I take a long sip

of rich, dark, milky, homemade hot chocolate.

Spring

I hear the birds singing their morning songs

as I lay on the trampoline.

I see the new flowers blooming, all different, all intricate.

I smell the fresh breeze coming out of its winter slumber.

I feel the warmth of the sun… nostalgic…

I don’t know why.

We bring out the picnic basket with

fresh fruit, sandwiches, and greens.

Summer

I hear the birds chirping, the bugs buzzing, the kids playing,

and the families grilling in their backyards.

The mugginess of the summer,

and the beach’s salty air.

I see the ocean’s waves rising and falling,

Falling and rising.

Ice cream—rich, creamy, cold, delicious, dreamy.

Fall

I hear crisp, clean, crunches of the freshly fallen leaves

beneath my feet.

I see the trees bare limbs and trunk,

like their beauty has been stripped away.

But, they know their beauty will come again.

I taste the pumpkin spice latte,

subtle until the kick, warm but not hot.

I smell the dewy, fresh air.

I pick up a leaf and crinkle its fragile body.

Crisp, I watch it crumble in my hand.

Fading beauty.

Markeiffe B.