SEASONS OF THE WIND

John Herlihy

We know of familiar seasons as they do come and go;

Spring rains fall lushly, but delicately falls winter snow.

Northern climes of the earth covered in winter lace;

Southern climes of the earth shine with summer’s face.

We rely on the four seasons just as we rely on the sun;

Summer, fall, winter, spring always seem on the run.

We never dare to consider what if they were not there;

A dull sameness would enshroud us without any compare.

We seldom refer to the dreaded season of falling leaves,

A season of atonement that will bring us to our knees.

We awaken to the coming dawn and its fresh wonder;

But the autumnal colors of death do our hearts plunder.

The ripple effect of gushing spring waters always in a rush;

Summer morning abuzz with bees, the wind speaks in a hush.

Dragon flies hover in suspension over marsh and meadow;

Butterflies with hand-painted wings mock the solitary rainbow.

The season of my aspirations but a tide that ebbs and flows,

Filling me with the hopes and dreams that only God knows.

Some minor success emerges to offer me a budding hope,

While sorrow and despair woven as knots into life’s rope.

Seasons of the wind out of nowhere to arrive on the stage,

Invisible to the naked eye, only their sound betrays their age.

Thru the corridors of my heart, the wind often blows hollow,

Unlike the soft whisper we hear on the breath of the swallow.

The wind howls as a wolf in the eye of the moon’s wonder;

The wind rushes through the valley of my soul with its thunder.

I remember the gentle caress found in the wind’s soft breeze,

Touching with love my four senses to make me feel at ease.

What is the wind but the breath of the world, its abiding spirit,

That enjoys the flow of multiple seasons and finds its own merit.

The howling, whining, hooting wind arises, the seasons to adorn,

While gentle breezes arise to sing softly, as universes are born.

- - - - -

(c) John Herlihy 27 February 2020