I look out the window and watch how the wind
Plays with the trees, delicately teasing the leaves
With a touch that's no more substantial than the glance
That you let fall on me in casual conversation.
The sun bathes the trees with the glory gold of life
But the sun is distant, and the wind is now,
A cool breeze that distracts me from the warmth
And threatens to blow my sun-dreams away.
It is possible for the wind to uproot a tree
If it gathers enough force, or if the tree is rotten.
I wonder if trees prefer winter over summer.
In the autumn I watch the treetops turn to fire
As the sun's heat becomes a fond, faded memory
And the wind's caresses seduce the leaves to fall
In a dizzy swirling gust that steals my breath from me.
Leaves scatter across my path, free and lively,
And clouds rush to cover the face of the lonely sun
As your windy eyes chill my spine and warm my heart.
I look out the window and see unmoving trees
Bare, with no leaves for the wind to toy with.
The silence of the land is not as cold
As the eyes that avoid each other when we pass.
The sun glows faintly through gray-blurred clouds,
And the wind fails to stir straggling empty branches.
The cold makes the trees immune to both wind and sun
And I pray that a frozen heart shields me as well.
Dead leaves lie in the snow, a bitter reminder
Of sunny spring days and gentle autumn breezes.
I have learned much about the seasons:
Spring is too fresh and sweet to endure for long,
Summer too sultry, smoldering and tense.
Autumn is blustery and beautiful-and bold,
Stripping the trees naked of leaves.
But nothing is better than the chill of winter,
When the trees see the world buried under snow,
An icy blanket surrounding a splintered heart
That numbs the mind and keeps me from falling apart.