Four Seasons

Attending to Vivaldi’s soaring strains

Gives rise to words and thoughts inspired

While drifting on a gentle bed of dreams

That must be grasped to manifest the moment,

Make clear the muddle that infests our lives.

Vivaldi. What sparked the genius

To bring forth the glory of the seasons

That are so dimmed in never ending repetition?

How is it that we be so inured

To the miracles that we are blessed with,

The seasons not the least among them?

Spring. The harbinger of life

When all that lay dormant mimicking death

Stirs to new-born life.

Summer. The fecund growth,

The promise of life’s continuance

And generations to come.

Fall. The great dying off

A time to rest for the coming trial.

As all things must do

And return to the source of all things.

Winter’s silence in a blanket

Sheltering the nascent dormant seed

With soft white comforters of snow

Protection from the ravages ice and wind.s

Vivaldi, the master who took these simple truths

And fashioned their grand procession

Into a thing of exquisite beauty.

He gave to us The Seasons.

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