There is a river of green running alongside the bus I am in
Shades of it overlap, lighter and brighter than usual
the sun is out after a long time
I am listening to the songs you love, euphoric but nostalgic
skipping memory-stones over the cascades of rippling trees.

Pretty weather rarely makes for memorable literature
Or maybe I’ve finally developed an affinity for the cold months
for the sparse sunshine, gloomy foliage, the cruel windy nights
Maybe experiencing four seasons has a charm of its own