oddly enough, with perpetual summer there does become a longing for the crispness and coolness of the winter. Each has its special quality. Green leaves rustling in the wind against a sunny blue sky – or white shimmering snow, frost tipped branches, the silence that only winter can bring. Both in moderation are beautiful, and in excess either one can become dull and ugly.

While I love being warm, I think finally understand that bizarre sentiment when people say they miss winter. I’m not sure I miss it yet, but perhaps I appreciate it more. (and one of the real joys of winter… it kills bugs!)

running
as it beckons
as the sunlit sultan
high on his perch
feather and down
is ready for merchant mating
soon to come

running
as it beckons
the on coming works
the glint of grass
the hint of hunt
slothly growing from
the rubble at our sneakers

running
as it beckons
as we are ever at the ready
your summer hair forgotten
your summer high reclaiming
all our destinies denied
in the drying sun