Alphonso hated the Spring Equinox. It meant we’re heading towards summer, which is hot, sticky, and utterly uncomfortable.
Alphonso hated the Summer Solstice. It meant the hottest months are on their way.
Alphonso hated the Autumn Equinox. It meant we’re heading towards winter, which is cold, icy, and utterly uncomfortable.
Alphonso hated the Winter Solstice. It meant the coldest months are on their way.
Alphonso hated the weather on television. “They’re forever predicting bad weather. I’ll watch once they start being a bit more positive.”
(The poetic form selected for this month is the English or Shakespearean Sonnet).
It seems we’ve entered into winter’s frost.
Your sullen glances hold a cold distain.
Fourteen years together look as lost
And rain an icy sleet. There is no gain.
There was a springtime time when all was new.
We’d picnic in the willow’s lovely shade
And talk and dance and laugh the season through.
We thought our love was truly heaven-made.
As all four seasons come and all four go
Time turns quaint foibles into tiresome ways.
“Whose turn to cook?” is greeted with “Dunno”.
What future? How much longer are our days?
Tonight we both saw light on wedding bands;
Our children sang some songs, and we held hands.