Seasoning

I am of spring, of flowers, and growing things, and possibility, budding green of shoots and yawning, bursting out of the sleepy earth;
I am of fall, in crisp golds and greens; olives and burgundies, and all good celebrations of good work and plenty like honey and rose noses on a crisp afternoon of favourite sweaters and kisses, feeding each other with crunches of bread, sweet onion soup, apple juicy slices on warm tongues, and sharp wine nectar;
I am of winter, when ice fire and mellow fire mix and gleam in candle's glow,
and all good things and good loves, and goodness, find their Noel magic;
I am of summer, when hot sweet moments dive in water's comfort, refreshed,
and gleam with bronzed summer sun on hot sweat skin, when lips meet, and youth is reminded of itself, in the torpid twirls of passion and rhythm, on a fevered night.

I am all these things, and more, to you; and I have seen them, reflected, and known, somewhere,
the circle's match, and measure, and May, in the Deep Quiet and Flicker there.

Dawn Nevills, August 15, 2009