Why was I given this one season only?
Why tempestuous spring with its hard storms blowing, angry and unstable skies tearing down and touching the earth itself, throwing fields of earthen debris into clay colored skies, melding the two into one.

Could I not have summer with its long lazy days and deep blue skies, with rocking chairs creaking on wide wooden porches and  lush green meadows among the white skinned birch trees, so close to a rocky creek that you can hear its tenor and ****** as it rushes downstream to gladly fill it’s moss covered banks

Or maybe the red and yellow of fall, with the crisp cutting air biting pleasantly in your lungs as you bellow out in the red rising sun, like a locomotive cutting through the wide open prairie, slicing the  amber openness like a knife , puffing steam and smoke like a dragon as your track vivisections the countryside

Could I not be given the white and cold winter, with its black skies, punctured by burning blue stars, as the fireplace roars out warmth in snapping and crackling dances of orange, surrounded by stone and wood, the still whiteness, muffled by snow and night outside the windows, that stare with red glow into the carpeted forest, hung heavy and damp with snow

Why spring and only spring, with pregnant clouds heavy laden with dark blue storms, hanging from their belly and the threat of tempest, just waiting to lay down their tearing winds and pouring rains

Why spring with its fickle beauty and warmth that can turn so quickly into a deluge that floods the earth and wipes away the burgeoning beauty that it has just created, roiling across rippled soil, dancing like silvered fish in glaring bursts of blue lightning

Why spring, that after all it’s hard blowing and storms it just fades away into nothing?