When I think of seasons,
I don't picture colorful leaves,
Falling in delicate pattern.
I see highs and lows,
Valleys and mountains,
My sadness, my woes.
I can hear my past thoughts echo,
I can remember being happy.
But I cant feel it.
New joy is fleeting.
Falling.
Failing.
This season that I sit in,
Is frosted over, cold.