The Seasoned Tree

The seasons remind me that all will be different tomorrow.
Seasons equate change. So do you and so do I.
And some things appear unchanged.
Appearances hide what we choose to not see.
Reflections reveal more of what still exists
Transparent from pink blossoms to summer harvest
Last splash of color subsides in the snow mist.
The seasons come around again reminding me
All will be similarly different and hidden again.

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  1. nicodemus

    keep the cig in place with my teeth & the open wind takes the smoke that flutters off the end; all soft. makes me think of ghosts & I only hope mine catch wind & breeze on past, into the past, where they birthed, so as I don’t keep finding them & digging on down to spring them when the seasons change once again , as they always do. As they always must.

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