” ‘Tis the season …” and similar greetings.
‘Tis the season … for a last big stone splashed in a shallow pool, the river now a thin layer of ice, water too shallow to ripple, natures nap time.
‘Tis the season … when youth is intercepted by winter, happens every year; but that comes as news to those with few annual rings.
‘Tis the season … some proud accomplishments are shedding; great while green and fresh, intercepted by winter, now more a wrinkled badge on weedy sprouts.
‘Tis the season … a bit unseemly – the anger of giving up to what actually exists, simplifying, accepting the chill in the darkness: especially when some envy … envy the even newer sproutings.
‘Tis the season, crotchety emotives here at the reunion of the anarchists might add, ‘Tis the season for the devalued mystery and wisdom with no context save rhyming snippets pinned to purchasable discardables.
‘Tis the season of a Gift transformed into the season of burden.
‘Tis the season … for humility, not big splashes, and maybe … ’tis the season for a cozy cave and hibernation.