As days turn to weeks,
And weeks turn to months,
Before we know it, whole seasons pass.
And we seldom take the time
to listen to the melodic sounds
that surround us.

As the autumn winds blow,
the leaves dance through the air.
A ballet of dancers in orange,
yellow,
and red.
Tired branches crash together
like brass cymbals
in a deciduous symphony of trees.

As autumn turns to winter,
the leaves are blanketed
by radiant white, as the snow falls,
swirling down from the heavens,
In rhythm with the whistle
of the winter winds.

In the spring, the flowers awaken,
after a long winter's rest.
They sway to the beat of the rain,
conducting the singing of the birds,
much like a metronome.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.

As the summer sun emerges
from the rainclouds of spring,
the children do likewise.
They trill with delight
in rhythm with the dancing of their bare feet
as they indent the earth
with happy footprints.

These footprints remain forever,
like the long-lasting effect of a joyful song.
Through the seasons,
Our mother's song plays on.
We can't always hear it,
but it's always there.
Like the thump-thump-thumping
of your heart.