Into the season of need.

Into the season of need.

"Shortest day, longest night"

Leaves that scamper down streets,
to the bluff and blow of wind
Skipping like children after cars
and drily scraping out songs, sing

In the note of mid-winter, where my
city brings all clatter and all clutter
That once was green, clinging to sky,
but you, in your dry, brought all to litter

..

Under the hard and smooth of benches
entrenched on less luxurious perch,
I observe all seasons, without a clue,
wrought wrong to another, blow coldly through

But in a draft blown snatch, where I sat
under benched timber stuck, something new:
A note from a stranger struck chords in my chamber,
a score unheard, and new notes rang true

The sounds bounced limb to limb,
Through the bare arms of trees
In parks I once knew I could sing,
overtures to leaves that hang on still
Watching for miracle seasons to bring

something, which is strange as it seems,
but mid winter now, feels more like spring,
Where seasonal brown switched it's crown
and gave us this beautiful burgundy ring

..

In the harsh north of Oatlands woods,
you were right about a storm coming.
Some storms are forces of elemental good,
pushing us to change, or just running

to the hope that others may bring,
and hear this roaring wind thronging,
in distant towers, where it sings,
yet safe in the arms of longing

The rain hits heavy on the roof tonight
The tin takes its tune, on cue,
softens it's path, to our porch-light
It soothes our cares, renews

our faith in the dark vein of night
I quiver, and strain at its beauty
I see again, again it's glorious light
Ignite the rain, the fuse, the plea

of earth to unite with the sky

I have long lingered in night's
Vaults vaulting dreams of your
Awakening, to the quick and quickening
flood of kisses brought about by light rain

That I could be that precipitation
landing a shower of benign arrows
Enriched with the elixir to soak sweet
dry earth, on this shortest of days
I remain, as ever the wanderer who strayed
Into the season of need.