Seasons of the Damned

Birds perch on trees cavorting, singing, happily proclaiming a day's awakening. Leaves spring forth from tiny boughs smiling, greeting, softly saying hello. Flowers burst out in wild, vivid colors, wanton, shameless, amid hills and plains. As fishes leap wildly, the brook flows lazily, freely on its long way to the wide open sea. Then just as suddenly all come to a standstill, screwing up the living, changing life to death. Birds are there no more, lifeless the firm branches where they used to play, into gold turn the leaves, making bare the trees. And come white blankets enveloping the silent earth, turning bleak and desolate what once teemed with life. Seasons come and they go, returning and then departing, but what never, ever changes is man’s mad march to war.