The Sound of Seasons

The cold feeds the quiet;

tears harden to white,

and the noise hides away

for to save its heat,

yearning the longer days.

That white blanket

covers us through the long nights:

cold and clean,

silent and pristine,

inviting the quiet to stay

Whispers arise amidst the quiet,

the blanket thins and falls away.

Louder the whispers become

until there is no sound,

just noise.

The noise has its day:

bountiful in the heat,

storing nothing, sharing everything,

loud with joy,

chaotic and friendly.

Tears one day fall,

muting the noise,

washing away the heat,

shortening the days,

announcing the coming of the quiet.