Winter is my favourite season, followed by autumn (fall). Summer is my least favourite because it is way too hot and, to be honest, I prefer wearing warm clothing and breathing crisp cold air. Spring is the season I am most ambivalent about – it means that I am leaving my beloved snow capped peaks behind, and will soon be sweltering through long commutes to work.
Spring Spring – the most joyous of seasons considered so pretty and fragile: a metaphor for love and life, and paragon of virtue beyond reason. Spring – the underhanded season it has successfully waged a propaganda campaign to create its brand, its name: so that we don’t remember its acts of treason, the creation of life purely for death. The explosion of colour that, too quickly, is laid to rest.
Angele Toomey Poetry 