A Forlorn Season

In one of her irascible moods
of pending mischief, Nature has
snatched early spring from our
grasp and impishly returned us
to winter in an impulse to please
us, her dependent creatures.
Understanding fully, as she does
our woe at the unfortunate passing
of icy winds, snowy landscapes.

Gone now, the sun and its faithful
companion warmth, along with
the comfort of another season of
promises. We see again frost, a
decor we know well, that comes
replete with howling winds bringing
sleet and snow storms in that
abysmally dark season just past.

Past, you say? We become again
reclusive, cold, quivering beings,
loathe to so soon again face the
whipping winds that crease our
tender faces. To venture into that
miserable, frigid gale is to clasp to
one's bosom a viperous transition
born of true, natural malice.

Early spring flowers shrivel in
dismay. Birds fail in their trilling
dawn greetings, huddling within
tree branches, fluffing feathers
against bone-numbing cold. Those
tiny, exquisite summer residents
returning, are caught in the pitiable
fate of anxious hummingbirds.

Creatures of the forest hesitate,
curious and confused, so certain
were they of their collective memory
of raising young to an introduction
of mildly kind forbearance toward
those new of all species. They
withdraw, to wait out this inclemency.
And so too, of grim necessity, do we.