It did not coat the road, as one might have expected.
No, it did coat the layer of snow that fell before it however.
Seems like fall was just a week ago.
Now we're plunged into the cold of winter.
I wrote poetry, not as much now as I once did, but I still do.
Of the poems that I have written, those about the seasons still strike a cord with me.
I envisioned fall as a middle aged druid, shrouded in brown robes.
Not unlike a certain minor wizard from Lord of the Rings that never gets mentioned in the films.
He moves amongst the animals, putting them to sleep softly with his low comforting words.
Summer, a radiant blonde, with a soft tan and a glowing smile.
Beauty so radiant that basking in it too long could burn one.
Spring, a gaily dressed jester, in purples and pinks, blues and oranges.
Singing away winter with a laugh.
Winter was a woman.
Cold and icy. A steely bride to fall and a heartless companion to spring.
Her beauty was such that once lost in it, only death could release you from it.
They all have names.
Fall, my fondest invention, is called Linder.
Winter, that which haunts me more than the others, I called Anaxia
Spring, that jester of pleasure, Eubido.
and finally Summer that beautiful creature that can be as deadly as winter, Sadia.
The poems are collected on a disk.
Every now and then I write a new one I feel belongs with the cycle.
I rarely mention the four characters by name in the poems.
I've have about ten times more poems about fall than anything else.
Strangely I even created a world for them to reside in, another place that we can only touch with our dreams.
Inspired by Lovecraft no doubt, though mine is not a vision of nightmares.
The Lake of Dreaming, and the City of Time and Seasons, that resides on it's shore.
posted by F.G. Shaw @ 11:44 AM
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