November comes and though it is fall,
A. Lancet of white encases the ground.
December arrives, and with it comes winter,
The white, flakey ice devours the landscape.
Like thick, frozen fog;
Stretching forever.
While some enjoy using it to play tricks on their neighbors,
Others take shovels and plows
To destroy the freezing mass.
As time goes on, the sun's rays extend,
The icy mass vanishes
Leaving deep, muddy puddles.
The people change from their soft puffy coats
Into bright spring colors.
The people celebrate the heat and the sun,
They grill their steaks, and swim in their many lakes
Until December,
Or even November,
When the white mass returns.