The Fifth Season

nearly the end of Winter

not Spring. Not late but dark ;

the hunter`s moon dissolves as

moths take to the woods, as sparks.

As if I could form the night like clay

and wonder at the polar stars in my palm ;
but the turning wind has failed to stay.

Trees and late snow unblessed with the kiss

of early warmth ; trapped in the dead light of the

moor in sacred lands. It is

Reviews

[Claire Twinn]

I so love the cyclical properties of this poem (like the seasons). Your lovely poem reflects the hope yet uncertainties of February (and life?). I would love to see the moths in the woods, but yesterday saw a sluggish honey bee woken up too early to find enough food.

[cartera]

One as human stands, and becomes one with the surroundings of nature. It is. And there is bugger all one can do about it but come back tomorrow and experience it all over again, but hopefully just a little differently.
Good stuff. Your talent is to put the reader right in there.
ATB
Alex.

[DIVYA]

This conjures lovely images of a dark, cold and unloving yet beautiful winter. Nature is sometimes inhospitable yet still magnificent.

Very well penned. Thanks.

[G!o]

I adore the voice in this piece. It just stands out and draws the reader in. The imagery is lovely and the writing is superbly unique.

[Eric Cox]

Theme and content is unique, I really like your creative images and vibe created. Nicely done!

[SHEEMA HUQ]

Hi Leslie, what i like about your writing is, the way your very personal voice always shines through, so these sentiments could only be yours; subtle yet sophisticated

[Chris]

Full circle...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

nice ending....yes, the fifth season...


sort of like spring's version of fall's Indian Summer..

that last blast of winter we don't expect.

almost like a relationship, when we don't expect the cold...

[An Ordinary Woman]

Beautiful. Delicate. LOVE the graceful ending.

[Emily B]

this captured me completely