Love the imagery. Reminds me of an old favourite by Phyllis McGinley... it's mostly about summer, but my very favourite verse is about the other seasons:
Winter is mittens, winter is gaiters Steaming on various radiators. Autumn is leaves that bog the broom. Spring is mud in the living room Or skates in places one scarcely planned. But what is summer, her seal in hand? Sand.
And here in the Pacific North Wet, Spring is a trickster, a sneaky kit that pokes its nose out in February (and has come early this year - today's high in Seattle was sixty-three!), then goes and hides until mid-April... and cowers again in fear the first three weeks of June until ceding the field to Summer just at the Solstice...
And the sharp smell of snowpack in the passes lingers until mid-July; at a mile above sea level the frosty stuff is still piled fifteen feet high in June... I wonder what it is that gives snow that distinctive smell... they figured out what it is about rain, but I haven't seen that same thing about snow.
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Winter is mittens, winter is gaiters
Steaming on various radiators.
Autumn is leaves that bog the broom.
Spring is mud in the living room
Or skates in places one scarcely planned.
But what is summer, her seal in hand?
Sand.
And here in the Pacific North Wet, Spring is a trickster, a sneaky kit that pokes its nose out in February (and has come early this year - today's high in Seattle was sixty-three!), then goes and hides until mid-April... and cowers again in fear the first three weeks of June until ceding the field to Summer just at the Solstice...
And the sharp smell of snowpack in the passes lingers until mid-July; at a mile above sea level the frosty stuff is still piled fifteen feet high in June... I wonder what it is that gives snow that distinctive smell... they figured out what it is about rain, but I haven't seen that same thing about snow.