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- Author Interviews
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- Educator of the Year
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- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
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First comes spring, the budding cousin, Ms. Aroma
Then Sister Summer, sandy-haired and already peeling
Uncle Autumn’s lying there on his hammock, swaying in the wind
And Father Winter is huddling against the hearth, staring into the flame
Each season brings about the birth of a new world
Holding hidden boxes filled with treasure.
Cousin Aroma paints a sky of swirling winds
To push time aside for another world.
Sounds of ice bubbling, cracking, layers of frost slowly peeling
The creatures on the ground a buzz with love’s hot flame
Trees burgeon, flowers blossom, releasing that honey-sweet aroma.
And a miser stumbles upon a hidden brook, eyes wide reflecting his treasure.
Summer’s haze, that brutal flame
Would give anything for a cool wind,
That crystal pool, how I’d treasure
A scoop of vanilla ice cream out of this world
Better turn over, my back is peeling
Oh my God, what’s that aroma?
What colors of the wind
Do I chance upon this world,
Where leaves are peeling,
And sticks and branches crunch under that pinewood aroma.
My heart exudes me, what joy that gentle flame,
But a walk through the woods, Oh what a treasure!
Father Winter old and peeling coaxes the dying flame,
As the world’s a drift of ice and winds.
The only treasure, the roaring flame and the chestnut aroma.
Sometimes these seasons joust with tempered tongues of flame
Accusations fly on hurricane winds.
What has come of this simple majestic world
Where angry mobs shout appealing,
The destruction of others, that rancid aroma.
Seasons exhausted, but their earth-bound treasure
Remains a concrete passion in this world,
That you can touch or feel like the rush of wind
Or the honey-suckle aroma.
Like chestnuts over a flame
We find our world is
Back layers of time to find our life’s treasure.