Seasons Sometimes the sun is unforgiving. It scorches And hits you squarely on the forehead, And your face actually burns. A baleful squint at the sun’s fierceness, Or a momentary stalling under a leafy tree, Or a focus on tasks ahead will give you the strength to defy its ferocity. Or a trickle of water And trudge on. It can also hit you at the nape of your neck, Or touch Other parts of the bare skin, And send rivulets of sweat trickling down your backside. Other times, the sun disappears, Or it does not shine bright enough, And the clouds form and create a gloominess That seeps into the soul. An ominous rumbling sets off in the expanse, And flashes of light illuminate the earth. Then the blustery winds curl and blow everything in its path to nowhere and everywhere. Eyes look upward worriedly, and the feet hurry to shelter. Then in the space of seconds, The skies will gape wide, And torrents of rain beat down and cleanse and sweep away everything it can carry, Leaving a residue gurgle of debris sounds in drain pipes... Don’t get it twisted. ‘Tis just seasons. ‘Tis just the earthly orbit Making its 92 million mile pilgrimage. The sun’ll come out again. No doubt. It will. -Ntology 22 The Birthday Journal
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