The Stillest Things

The summer crests and meets
fleeting flecks of dyeing dog days,
an era vanishes into the past—

Wind compels chameleon leaves,
the changelings of the spring—
falling fertilizer of the fall.

The scarecrow skeletons of trees
bend as if bowing to the snow—
branches cackle an ominous fate.

Terra-firma turns to velvet cream—
winter blue crystals stray to aqua
clear vista’s of vernal flowering.

A true myriad of blossom buds
erupting and breaking their bonds
for the flight of precious pollen—

Each evolution of petals richer,
providing that its canvas is fed
waters the color of summer skies.

The luscious earth is parched to dirt,
tumble weeds scrape at the land—
signaling the weathers storms at last.

Floods come and smooth the scabs—
the birds fly south; they always have,
and an era vanishes into the past.

© J.P.V.

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