School’s out, and my children have flung their formal studies into the air.
Papers flutter strewn behind their eager footfall, flung far into the distant Autumn… an Autumn that lives now only as a scarcely discerned afterthought.
Summer comes now.
Nestled comfortably between his smaller milder brothers, the powerful Southern Summer stretches his arms in a casual yawn. Confident and at perfect ease, he knows his time is at hand, and only waits for the right moment to hit his mark.
Without haste or worry, Time on his side… Summer comes now.
May has been a careful Mother to us, sheltering her children of flowers and grasses from the heat with attentive intermittent rains. May looks on with sadness and worry… how many will wilt and burn in the long dry blaze of August, the blooms spent and crinkled into dust upon unseen trails.
June rides a white horse and bears a long Sunny pennant, his days shall be triumphant and blustering. June swings a mighty axe that hews down tall Thunderheads, from his footfalls come Fennel and Sunflowers reaching upward into burning azure skies.
Spring’s tender kiss is now Summer’s warm embrace.