April showers brought May flowers, just as the ditty promised.
The valley below the chapel became a petal-scented bed of color.

Days passed. Red alcohol climbed the glass tube. Green plants turned into brittle parchment. Birds burst into flames in mid-air. August in central Texas.

Days Passed. Autumn sprinkled her nutmeg and cinnamon on the fading light of summer; color and spice, chill winds, the approach of winter, the certainty of snow.

The flowers of May are gone now, covered by a bedspread of white crystal water.