Winter is relentless in its efforts to kill.
Its beauty is deceptive, a mask to trick at will.
Winter days are empty yet full of mournful hours.
How sharp its bite.
How strong its might.
How unapologetically it devours.
Spring is nature's foreplay, always leaving you wanting more.
Delicate flowers awaken only to wilt to the floor.
This promise of new hope is a temporary parade.
How short its stay.
How weak its display.
How misleading of the masquerade.
Summer is abusive to the senses, everyone.
The burning flesh, the clouds of pollen all influenced by the sun.
We lay out like lizards willing to bask.
How brutal the heat.
How unhealthy we eat.
How we are given complications for which we do not ask.
Autumn is a grand affair.
Bonfire smoke and cinnamon in the air.
A covering of reds and golds.
How crisp its edges.
How honest its pledges.
How beautifully its story is told.
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