Four Seasons

i.

the clouds were majestic and beautiful, sweeping gallantly through the air with the sky as the ballroom and earth as the audience.
gaping mouths opened and snow coated the lands in a sugary coat of white, a gentle but steady downpour upon bare soil.
clouds breathed and wind swept forth, churning the desolate landscape and urging it to movement.
water was captured and frozen to a rigid solid substance and refused to be stirred.

thus, winter birthed and died.

ii.

green reared its lovely head once more, daring to break through a frigid barrier and emerge from an icy prison.
warmth was bred and coldness turned tail and fled, leaving ice and snow to hiss and dissolve away in defeat.
naked branches were clothed in green foliage and flowers sprung free and radiated colorful glory.
earth was bathed in light until the clouds returned and opened mouths to spew torrents of rain, proceeding to fed and nourish life.
life, which bounded joyously through golden meadows and strived amongst rich forests and gardens.

thus, spring birthed and died.

iii.

the sun turned brutal and water precious as gold, the slightest breeze received as a blessing.
the sky transitioned to soft blue and the clouds floated thick and flocculent.
evening storms shook the earth but fed the grass and stirred humid air.
life flourished amidst the shade.

thus, summer birthed and died.

iv.

shriveled leaves gave way to brilliant shades of red, orange, yellow.
cold crept in and whispered promising threats.
the clouds toiled and sensed yet another change, prompting the winds to rush about in excitement and rustle branches, ripple stilled waters.
leaves crunched and the air took on a slight chill.
tension strangled the atmosphere as the earth prepared for a new season.

thus, autumn birthed and died.

v.

the earth was made to accept change and new life.
the seasons were made to birth and die, to repeat an endless cycle no matter the circumstances.
one cannot destroy winter’s icy touch or spring’s quiet rebellion or summer’s fiery temper or autumn’s crunchy taste.

thus, four seasons shall continue to birth and die.

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Author: Misty

Why hello there. :) I'm Misty, a Christian writer, photographer, and violinist. The most likely places to find me are at the beach or the library, or maybe curled up somewhere clacking away at an old typewriter.

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