Transformation - June 30 2022

 

Transformation

June 30 2022

Winter is blue light

and long distorted shadows.

The trees are bare;

I can can almost see them shiver

in the cold astringent air.

But now, in June

it's earth-tones

and high relentless sun.

And in their glory

after so many years of growth

trees enclose the place,

looming over,

edging closer,

cinching-in

like a tightening green perimeter;

so I am in constant shade

and mercifully cool.

Grass, where there was snow,

and down the slope

a large body of water

that was an open expanse of white;

but now, instead of wind-whipped and barren

inviting me in.

A few months

of easy living

before winter again.

Yet all it takes

is the earth tilting a bit

as it circles its star

in a roughly elliptical orbit

on a slightly inclined ecliptic,

and it's as if space-time

had been wrenched apart.

So why

when year after year

there is no mystery to it,

am I so amazed

at such a vast transformation?

A short intense summer

with barely time to adjust,

before the sun starts descending

leaves turn brittle

the first snow comes.

The familiar sounds

of trees rustling

surf up

and a brief efflorescence 

of birdsong and bugs.

Then silence;

except for armadas of honking geese

heading south.