lost in the woods
Like spring, bursting with life, pursuing life, driven by death at a moment's hesitation. Not much of summer in your eyes...no long, lazy death of overripe indulgence, warmth like the colour of maple syrup in autumn. a blanket of brilliant colours and an edge of frost. Sometimes winter, perhaps underlying, or the underlying memory/expectation/thought of it. Indulgence, taken with the knowledge of winter, made so much sweeter. Late spring at times, intensity forgotten for a span, never long, drifting into darker greens, softer, less driven, for a time.