A year of pickled poetry.

Autumn:
The ground a crisp, crystalline crunch 
the sky bruised black and blue
Trees stand silent sentinel
skyscraperous, deciduous,
they quiver as I shiver
and their leaves, furled, unfurl
and fall,flutter,flitter,litter
the f-frigid frost below.
Winter:
Ground sodden
Sun hung low in sky leaden
Clouds loom, lumber, boil and blunder
Rain, sleet, snow falls, freezes,
breezes become blizzards
Everything is damp and dark
but for golden wattle bloom
which penetrates the girdling gloom.
Spring: 
The fug and fog of winter lifts
The mists evaporate, unveil
lamb-like clouds in a field of blue,
lush, limpid lawns of green.
A languid sun warms a waking world,
Fresh life abounds in bees, buds, birds
and cats round new-born kittens curled.
Summer: 
Sun searing
Cirrus soaring high
Sky blindingly bright
Earth scorched, dessicated
Bushland torched, incinerated
Shadows short, days long
I long to plunge into the ocean
rehydrate and revive.
​​