Seasons in the Sun

The windmill remembers ….
the midday heat of summer past, the tinder dry grass here on the banks of the river,
baking and shimmering like silver in the sun.
Now, in the cold dawn on an Autumn morning fog blankets the landscape and the wet grass glistens from overnight rain.
The freezing winds of Winter will soon crystallise everything.
The windmill is silent … Waiting for Spring


Like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream,
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream,
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face,
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind,
Noel Harrison


















 


One thought on “Seasons in the Sun

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