Seasons

a short prose poem about the seasons

the rain fell softly and filled the cracked streets with rivers that ran downhill. lampposts flickered on in the midday gloom, illuminating swatches of the muddy ground. children watched glumly through wet windowpanes as chalk drawings were gradually obliterated, making all their hard work for naught. parents watched glumly through other windows as large puddles formed, spilling slowly towards the houses and threatening to flood basements.

the sun fell softly and filled the streets with heat that could have melted tires. lampposts didn’t turn on until late at night, the sun illuminating the parched ground until perhaps nine in the evening. children watched glumly through hot windowpanes as waves of heat lifted off the streets, making it too hot to play. parents watched glumly through other windows as their gardens baked in the sun, vegetables roasting that wouldn’t survive much past august.

the leaves fell softly and filled the streets with their pungent, slippery selves. lampposts flickered on at night and illuminated the leaves hiding the ground from the air that grew brisk by day and chilly by night. children watched glumly through grimy windowpanes as the piles of leaves that they were forbidden to jump in were burned, making the air smoky and toxic. parents watched glumly through other windows as more leaves fell, making more work for them.

 

the snow fell softly and filled the cracks in the streets with white powder that compacted over time. lampposts frosted over in the cold, glass cracking and falling silently to the ground below. children watched glumly through frigid windowpanes as swing sets and flowers alike were covered in mountain-high drifts. parents watched glumly through other windows as snow and ice hid the roads, meaning that they’d have to leave early for work in the morning.