“A Quartet of Seasons” by Faith Potter

by Faith Potter ’23

Winter

I don’t really mind how loud the silent things are in the wintertime
and the other way around
the way snow is audible by some demeanor
the way a birds’ chirp is enveloped
within white blankets from the night before
the way it’s the only real time you can hear wind, notably a usual silent thing
are all the other times just pretending you can hear?
some find fright in how loud the silent things are in the wintertime
and how silent the loud things are. others find comfort.

Spring

sometimes the first bud of spring comes too early
nip of the previous winter still prevalent
no blankets to cover them
no words to warn them
and the thing about that is
the first bud is usually the last
and I think that alludes to what is coming
my mother’s easter cakes and cookies
a movie perhaps
a walk, maybe
it repeats itself.
and again
the earliest bud sends some sort of ‘symbol of new life’
but it always takes longer than it seems
I find that true with much about life
time is relative, fragile
no one seems to notice but me
that the earliest bud is usually the last

Summer

the hottest season is a juvenile one
the favorite of children and their caretakers alike
summer is the favorite of those with the little responsibility that seems like the most
the least favorite of those trying to escape their youth
the least favorite of those who want to find some sort of way out, those who want to be different in a way
the hottest season is a juvenile one

Fall

perhaps ones favorite season
maybe even my own
for those who long for reminiscence
is a favorite of fall
for fall-time longs for the past
a childhood memory turns into distant film
one you see long ago but can’t quite place the plot
replaced by a memory of your child themself