Everything In Its Season

I would speak to you of the seasons set upon this earth. Each would make its mark ingrained when it is birthed. Surely there is but one place to start the heart to sing when greens come forth at the first show of Spring; the tender shoots rise steady from the softened ground as the seed begins to grow straight, narrow and unbound. A babe's life begins to form like sparrows in the thicket rose appearing like the parents, mother, father or another undisclosed while still in its youth it continues to struggle and grow balking and resisting of the parental taboo of no. Spring was just a moment, a brief second in time and quickly comes the summer of youthful prime, slipping quickly through the lessons of young life each slide to educational and professional heights. The warmth and light of maturation in the brilliant sun is a syncopated dance hardly begun; when the years fade and disappear into visions and dreams less clear and suddenly we are standing looking left and right wondering how we got to basking here in summer's delight. Autumn falls and quickly meanders in, just when we thought that life was ready to begin and we find time has sped too quickly by with thirty, forty, fifty on the fly. Where did it go, the years so looked forward to suddenly realized uncounted, now lay behind you. More than half of life is spent and marks were barely a dent. Holding on tight to what is now dare we face winter's hours? Winter lies close around the turn filled with fewer days to burn, and looking back seems mere pondering cast with images still wondering, if we have fulfilled our destinies played our games and planned well our seventies. The sidelines remain open, cold and unframed conditioned only by our self set restraints as we fight, resist, contemplate our age failing to chill and sleep away that last stage.