In Winter

I think of summer…
Of feverish glow
Of summer sunburn…
Of sunshine seined
Through the trellis of trees…
Of summer sun
The color of
Undercooked egg yolks
cool and warm
Both at once…
Of growing tree roots
Gently tilting sidewalks
And warm raindrops forming
Crystal necklaces
On the nape of the wind…
Of haloes round the moon
And rain rings upon the river…
Silvered, tranquil surface, dimpled
By frogs, fry, and turtles…
Moss…dark as old meringue
Draped close up
To cat tails…in their turn
Bearing the bright blossoms
Of red-winged blackbirds…
The rich melange
of manure and clover,
Faery rings of toadstools,
of butterflies and bumblebees...
The feel of humid air, thick and heavy
As a wool blanket, rasping roughly
Upon one’s skin…
Platters of roseate warm sunrises
Seasoned with swirling
pepper of starlings…
Of lightning veined thunderclouds
And lingering images,
blood red Fading to black
strobing through closed eyelids…
Of hair shimmering muskily
With unholy highlights
In the high heat
Of the summer sun…
In winter I think
At times…of Spring
And at times of Fall…
In summer
I think of winter slumber
…yet in winter…
I think of summer…
most of all