Green Solstice - Moose

[Lawrence Robinson]

Green Solstice

Poet after poet of the lands
Of four seasons
Laud their winters.

I grew up, and live,
In a land without snow,
Free of “icy blasts of winter”.
None of Robert Frost’s
Frozen lakes, and woods 
Filled with snow. 

Just before this
Winter’s Solstice,
We drove through the
Gentle, voluptuous,
Lines and folds
Of my land.

Marveling at the 
Transformation from
The “Golden” tan
Of the dry season
To the glorious greens
The rains bring.

There are more shades
Hues, tints, lights
Textures and 
Shadows of green here
Than are dreamt of
In any philosophy.

Like anything remote 
From the natural world,
These words are only 
Faint shadow of the 
Experience.

I tingle —
Goosebumps,
At the memory.

	- Moose
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