September

The sweet scent of summer air
is wafting through my lover's hair.
I drink it in and hold it there
for Fall is drawing ever near.

The freckles on her face I see
will soon be lost in rustling leaves.
I kiss them sweetly in the sun
and feel the crispness of the air.

An apple resting on the ground
and in her hair a golden brown
She wears the season like a smile
Autumn you are finally here.

Spring

I paddled out on the water yesterday and surfed what was left of the last storm that passed through. The clouds broke over me, and I knew that thousands of thirsty New Englanders would finally be getting a drink of the blue sky after far too many days of rain. Later that day I'd notice the trees in Cambridge starting to bud as they slowly open their ingenious photosynthesizing umbrellas. And the squirrels in the park were digging up their treasures, getting fatter and fluffier by the day.

This morning the marshes were glowing green at dawn. A layer of cool fog was quickly burning away from the warmth of trillions upon trillions of photons radiating from the peeking eye of the sun. Beach houses lined up on the horizon to watch the spectacle. They stood in the haze like cool gray paper cut-outs. A handful of sentinels clad in black neoprene were floating on the water and watched as the sun rose over an all-too-finite ocean. Meanwhile a 70+ year old woman jogged the length of Ocean Boulevard as she must have many, many times before.