George’s Yard

snowy window

I wrote “George’s Yard” after a snow storm.  I thought about the contrast between that moment and the summer before when the yard was particularly lush and green. As remarkable as contrasts are between two seasons, I realized they are also contained within each season. And, their sometimes harsh promise is that they come and go and come again.

George’s Yard

A yard of deep, soft snow
fell yesterday,
its quiet, staying coverlet
of monochrome
is lying contrast
to the memory of summer,
is lying on the earth
and to the life below
as promise of its shelter —
though holding only
bright, pure, suffocating white —
an empty guarantee
even now collapsing
from its own weight in the cold.
I tell myself,
Remember this
in six months hence
when warmth rests on your face
and caresses with a vow
of vibrancy.
Recall the promise
and futility
of seasons.

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