a prose about the seasons. scenes changing and what happens when you go through them. |
When I sense your footsteps in this environment I can rarely see you because either the rain rinses you off from the your painting, or perhaps the sun which, shows a lot, will lift you off the earth and move you somewhere else to come down to earth. As I walk through the streets and I still see you from time to time, but yet again something is wrong, I see you are covered by nature. With all of the colours falling on the ground and covering you up so I can’t see you. I hear you as I go crunch, crunch, I see nature has been very disturbed by scattered things throughout. I see your marks in the trees in that every touch breeds weakness and eventually you fall and surrender to the lowest part of the environment. I continue to walk through life, at this time I cannot feel my body. My warmth has gone down, but I still see your footstep in the ground, imprinted, like the moon landing. Even though the harsh and silent wind blows you away, this environment sometimes gives a gift and implants you as nothing can disturb you in which you stay in the harsh environment. Though I can see you in this environment, it is not the one for you to live in. I walk down the street and I see the problem melt away, again I get to see you. The world is changing around me from white and darkness, to green, light and warmth. I see things grow and cold turn into thawing out right before my eyes. I see the reflection in the natural mirror I have contact with you through my eyes yet again. As nature changes I see a rebirth of your image, your own mark and footsteps once more. As we get used to our earth, we are confident and march and get ready for another time. I can rarely see you because either the rain rinses you off from your painting of the world, or perhaps the sun, which shows a lot, will lift you off the earth and move you somewhere else to come down to earth. |