Today I planted summer.
I dug through the slumbering roots of spring,
the hollowed out tubes of earth where cold rested,
Biting through roots and earth and little bits of ice,
an ice colder than life and ice colder than death
rested, eating up all the warmth.

I started with this, the cold. I couldn't
melt them myself,
winter must always come again.
So I just pushed it off, the cold. I tucked it away.
Because I had the seed.
So I tucked the seed into the ground, beaming golden
I stepped away while it began to live, while its potential unfolded.
And oh, the potential.

Summer breezes, ocean tides, green grass,
new loves, the gold of sunlight. Barely audible, a voice sang.
Sang of melting and moving and shifting and growing and
burrowed into the earth finding all the cold
melting the frozen joints of the earth, to kiss the ice,
to stave off the freezing of the earth.

The energy of the sun and nature itself wound through that seed
and spread out through the soil.
And I, I only planted it. So I went home to wait for spring.