life is most visual when listening to it
Autumn amorous skunk, dark as days past and ever the scent ’er of attention, hasten behind mirthless pumpkins where red face maples leaves-drop and bare no more to wear summer.
Winter pitter-patter of a little sleet might be polite to deer mice torporing on burrowed time, though less so to icy slide-walkers who’d rather not have to shave their windshields.
Spring lilacs, swaying to the fuzzy beat of a breeze of bees awaiting their first swarm weather, are never as outdoor-able as May be shadows of looming bloom.
Summer squirrels burying summer under buttons of mushrooms in merry gold meadows, shared with a pride of dandelions and dusk, arrive as quietly as first star I see tonight.
