Walking in summer
legs cutting strokes
through mid-afternoon heat and humidity.
Dappled shade on the sidewalk
an oasis for neighborhood cats
and my shoulders.
Looking at the apple
hanging low in the sky
through rose-tinted glasses.
Slogging exhaustion of the last few weeks of school,
coupled with the buzzing excitement of school soon to be a thing of the near past.
Walking in autumn
is a concerto of life and death.
Fallen leaves form crunchy pathways
past barbeques waving
smoke and neighbor’s hands
in my direction.
Frisbees glide on the crisp breeze
scooping leaves into the sky
and pushing them past the baby-pink clouds,
on towards November.
Cool air in my lungs travels upward, refreshing my mind;
a ready new mindset for the year ahead.
Walking in winter
is a still-life in black and white.
Air cold and still,
frozen branches barely quaking
in the nearly nonexistent wind.
Puffs of white breath
and echoing footsteps on abandoned asphalt.
Bright edges and harsh lines.
Frost encases the scene,
casting a shimmer over khaki grass and barren trees.
Heavy damp chill takes residence in my lungs
and drags me down like the oncoming snowfall.
Walking in spring
is fresh air stretching my chest.
Flower-buds shedding winter coats;
heathered snowdrops cast to the ground
to form glass puddles.
Rose-tinted glasses aren’t needed—
pinks reflect greens reflect yellows.
A watercolor to remind us
of soft and kind,
gentle and new.
A smile lingers on my lips as if to reflect the petals
blossoming on the trees like the freedom in my chest.