What if seasonal beginnings where winged metaphors,
Like the pink lady is to a kaleidoscope of butterflies,
Hovering in the pupae metamorphosis of chrysalis,
Where knowledge of self, like emerging Monarchs
Take crowned flight from one season to another.
Or, like the Andromeda plant, its coat of many colors
From stem to branch paint gardens in each season,
The gardener raking their prized blooms in Autumn.
So too mindfullnes emerges from thicket bramble –
From where self regeneration, the balm of the soul
Slumbers in Summer and stirs, awaken, in Autumn,
To fly on majestic new wings to a familiar home,
Where lily of the valley blossom.