Spring is a disorganized illusionist
trying to keep us outdoors with promises of Summer
cracking cheap jokes at the expense of Winter.
Trying to woo us with her wiles, her flirtations
with her homemade tricks, grand but empty phrases.
Her limbs move oh so gracefully
hands deftly whisking flowers from behind your ears
Her laugh is contagious – like swaying trees
She’s got your undivided attention – and knows it
For now – you’re on the edge of your seat.
She’s a shimmering spectacle, a joy to behold
a faerie queen, leaves you wanting more.
After the bitter snowfalls, the trying cold months
you’ll love her quicksilver fountains of rippling heat
through which ethereal horses smartly prance
tossing their heads, made entirely of cool breeze.
Her showmanship is utterly sublime – pirouettes
while whirling ribbons of color, cartwheels, handstands-
She seems to have completely perfected her art
You’ll be quick to dismiss Winter
as an unpleasant thing of the past.
Between performances I sneak backstage
tell her my words want to paint her on a page.
But first, I wanted to understand, to know
intimately the cogs and workings of her art.
“Show me the sleight of hand behind the magic tricks,
won’t you?
I promise I won’t laugh.”
She preens, easily pleased, promises me
an exclusive interview later and I rush back
to my seat, thrilled, bedazzled, fangirling.
But oh! I had acted too fast, fallen too soon.
My shameless heart is too easy to please
to be frank, I think it is a tad worn out
from spending so much time exposed on my sleeve.
She hadn’t planned out her performances well
Oh yes, she had us captivated for a few short days
throwing out streamers of coruscating sunlight
The ceilings above us an unforgettable blue –
as enchanting as a songbird’s smile.
She had wrung out the very last drop of golden light.
The rays flatter her expressions, gestures, her arms,
as they push away the cold, weave hazy adventure-dreams
out of shabby, overused but brightly colored parts.
The ghosts of tricks and treats and aged carnivals,
The castoffs of an established performer’s past.
She’s attempting to manipulate paraphernalia
which wasn’t hers to use to charm.
And suddenly, her magic turns on her – aghast
we watch as the sweet breeze turns bitter cold,
the blue skies get overrun by rain and clouds.
The flowers still bloom but - nervous now,
she drops them – we hear Winter give a laugh
as everything comes crashing down.
Finally – forlorn – Spring is sitting alone on stage.
Her props and tricks feebly stirring here and there
her once timeless costume now in disarray
After booing her, the audience has left the place.
I go sit with her, wipe away an errant tear.
She refuses to meet my eyes, gives a watery smile.
“Just another day of trying to keep folks entertained.
I know the show was mediocre – I know
that my aspirations don’t match my talents – at all.
In spite of all the effort and time and hard work
I’m used to falling short, to having failed - but
this is what I love, so I just keep on going, try to
hold on to those rare, merry days when spring reigns/supreme I reign
And when nothing else works, I just, well I
tell myself that Summer is on its way.”
She packs up her stuff, bids me farewell
with an exhausted but still jaunty wave.
The stage lights dim, the silence is so loud -
She’s still dropping flowers as she walks away.

I am alone, facing the empty seats – it’s cold.
The presence of Winter haunts more than ever -
I think it’s time for me to head back home.
Spring is a disorganized illusionist, yes
but there’s something about her all the same.
She is a weak character, a shoddy performer
but there’s always a glimmer of light on her face.
And for all her second-rate talents, her shortcomings
she’s always upbeat, optimistic – that’s brave.
And so, with her top-hat perched on my head,
I returned home, dejected- but graced.