Seasons

Summer to fall, No other transition Is quite so compelling, So thrilling, So enchanting, The sunlight shines golden In the late afternoon, Illuminating the leaves of trees, Some of which reveal gentle hues Of red, orange, and yellow, The sun spreads its warmth Like an infant being swaddled in a blanket, And it causes one to doze off, Daydreaming of yesteryears, What about those years? Ones of youth, Ones of innocence, Ones of naivety, It’s a bit like the trees, The way one enters the world Small, frail and vulnerable, Only to grow and change As time elapses, Quicker than memory will allow, A sudden tingling stops the mind And halts one’s dwelling on the past, What is tingling on my arm? And when one looks down, They see the winged creature Crawling on the forearm, Unintentionally tickling the arm hairs, Oh, it’s just a lanternfly, And now, it is here That a new sensation arises, As one observes the insect With its patterned wings, Displaying vibrant yellows and pinks, With an overlay of dark spots, Like a photo negative print Of a night sky full of stars, The sensation is suddenly alleviated As the insect flies away, But not without leaving An impression on one’s mind, One about small things, Beautiful, fleeting things, Which might just make The passing of time, Or the passing of life, That much sweeter.