Seasons
Birdsong | Erina Coutinho | Colored Pencil and Gouache
Seasons by Imogen Huxley
Time is the only constant.
That is what I’ve been telling myself recently
As it is the only way I can move on from previous grievances.
I look out my window,
Into the backyard,
And I stare at the billowy blooms of the pink and white cherry blossom tree,
And I remember holding your hand.
It was at this time last year,
This day,
This hour,
This minute.
At this time last year,
This day,
This hour,
This minute,
I could still feel your pulse
And I could still let out a giggle
And look up at you
When the subtle yet somehow cacophonous sounds of your stomach
Were causing a ruckus.
When my tired eyes
And my smitten heart
Could still rest on you,
Comfortably in love.
***
I look out my window,
And I observe the cracked white paint still on the sill
With a warm gust of gentle August wind slowly inhabiting my room
Because I have the window slightly open.
At this time last year,
This day,
This hour,
This minute,
I would’ve been talking to you about what we were going to wear on the first day of school,
And praying that we have classes together
While listening to you breathe
And making that sound my remedy.
***
I look out my window
And I notice that the bittersweet end of summer has begun
As the array of warm-toned leaves descend from the now sleepy trees
And come to rest on the ground that will soon devour them
And birth them again when the first buds of a new spring make their debut.
At this time last year,
This day,
This hour,
This minute,
We would’ve been lying together,
Limbs intertwined,
As we fall asleep with synchronized heartbeats
And a sarcastic moon mocking our eyelids
As the dramatic October fog covers its bright, heavenly light.
***
Now, when I look out my window,
There is a blanket of snow
That covers my backyard.
My fingertips are numb as I am writing this,
And saccharine memories have stolen the air from my lungs.
Looking back on it all,
I reminisce about the times when I could look out my window
And a sweet and loving ambiance would fill up my senses
When you were right there beside me
At this time last year,
Every day,
Every hour,
Every minute,
And I am reminded
That time is the only constant.
