A Summary of Seasons

Spring: I thought of Monet and his haystacks, painted at different times of day and in different weather, how the poem I wrote was like revisiting an old subject to see how the light had changed it. I wondered about friends and the haystacks they returned to.

Summer: I felt more self-assured. I could see how life could go. But the broader world made less and less sense, and fear crept in.

Fall: Impermanence of all things, universe expanding, lives lurched forward. This culminated in a shrug from an Irishwoman: “Change is as good as a rest.”

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