My Seasons Change...
As I didn’t have a camera, let me write you a picture As I walked through an early morning of late November, the white ceramic mug of coffee cradled was cooling quickly; frosty puffs of breath preceding me. Every blade of grass was distinctly encased in its own coat of frost. Before me lay a panorama of Geneva Lake, the pink hue of sunrise still lingering in the sky diffused by the steam rising out of warm waters into the frigid air. The dog ran leaving no footprints across the frozen beach and the reflective glass of the water was filled with cliques of geese; squawking, diving, preening, making trails as they glided across the lake. They were incongruous against the backdrop of the lone white boat pier, all the slips long emptied, boards encrusted in a layer of icy snow. I stood on the diving board in my winter coat and looked trepidatiously at the green clear water below me. It was definitely no longer summer. And the lyric came to mind; “My seasons change, You stay