not static achievements, not milestones, but practices cultivated carefully, with awareness and intention.
to spring and to fall are easy – up, into action, in love, asleep. (already implying transitions in their most immediate idiomatic contexts.)
i get a little lost in summer. trying to locate summer-as-verb somewhere outside its waspiest home in newport and on the vineyard. i find it in kinnell’s blackberries and morgan’s strawberries, in tan lines and claustrophobic city sweats in august.
to winter is a threat; sappho’s to her lover, or maybe to a world which situates their togetherness among the grotesque. to winter is resignation. to winter is an overstuffed window seat and faces pressed against freezing glass. hot breath blurs your field of vision. waiting for her to come home.