Seasons of the Heart
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The last warmth of summer played upon Ava’s cheeks as she sat beneath the crimson canopy of Bran, the age-old maple. Leaves whispered of yesteryears, each one a story, a heartbeat, a tear. Zephyr, the mischievous wind, wove through the branches, stirring memories like the leaves it danced among.
“Summers’ fond touch,
Leaves blush, time’s rush,
Hearts hush beneath Bran.”
Ava traced the veins of a fallen leaf, its crimson hue a stark against her pale hands—a mirror of a once fiery heart, now tempered by time’s relentless march.
“Autumn's fire wanes,
Love’s fierce pain now tames,
Whispered gains, Zephyr’s refrains.”
With each gust, Bran shed his weight, baring his soul to the world, and Ava felt her own burdens lighten, her sorrows becoming soil from which new hope could bloom.
“Winter's white shroud,
Bran’s strength, unbowed,
Ava’s vow softly avowed.”
Spring's first buds nudged the earth, and Ava returned, her steps unsure but her eyes alight with the promise of the new. Bran, ever the sentinel, stood watch, his budding leaves a testament to resilience.
“Spring’s tender bloom,
Heart’s rooms re-tomb,
Zephyr’s loom, destiny’s womb.”
Ava rose with the sun, her shadow long but her spirit longer. Bran whispered farewell to his confidante, his leaves aflutter with Zephyr’s final, hopeful verse.
“Summer’s child departs,
New starts, woven hearts,
Life’s arts, in nature’s charts.”
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