You are spring while I fall.
Preparing for summer while I winter.
Our differences caught in fiery maple leaves,
crackling, strung together in light breezes,
only to fall in a forest and sink in the soil.
For I know we are both beautiful.
And who am I, to restrict such beauty but instead
use my fallen leaves to raise your light of
vibrant green, pastel blossoms.
If not enough, I know that
as the sun travels and pigments mature,
your creations will shift their beauty
to be with me once more.
As done for all existence, it brings me great joy
to know that as I fall to the end of the cycle,
my resurrections remain appreciated
as you create beauty from mine;
as I create beauty from yours.
I wish to greet you, old friend.
To connect the beginning and end of life.
To know if you too grow impatient, like I in summer,
watching, waiting to see what arises from my burnt ashes.
To scan the horizon and see a world of new color.
But to never meet is torture.
For summer and winter are beautiful,
but separate a love like no other.
Lauren Cueto ’17