Seasons In Paphos

Five o'clock. An afternoon of January. The chimney is incandescent with fire: Warmth, comfort, and pleasant mood. The sun is slow, yet rapidly weaving good-bye At the horizon; leaving us marvelling at the train Of its extensive, pink court-gown; to our imagination Its nocturnal festivity: —once, our own youth— A sense of longing for the romance of life… It is going to be a long evening; As usually this time of year, when January Loves long nights by the fire, and mulled wine Spicing the boredom with vapours of exotic flavours: The grey, melancholic dullness of these days! When to me—outside—is only my early-morning walk With my dogs; greeted with a smile of Morning's joy, Nature's freshness of air, admiring the crystalline Dew-drops hanging frailly, yet steadfastly On each verdant-fresh blade of grass: January's herbage—Cyprus' Spring: Moist and fresh, adorned with tiny, yellow Dandelions' coronas accompanying me Along my walk. There is a walnut orchard, Barren of its foliage. Its trees are undulating sensually Their nudity in the vernal air, and the sunrays are casting A fairy light through their affectionate limbs, As Autumn's carpet is lying irresistibly at their feet; Hiding their fallen, forgotten woody fruits. I taste their iodic savour, while I draw my pace Nonchalantly, with a cheerful song in my mind, Enchanted by such disposition of joy Presented to my being; wandering and wondering At the yellow-ochre, mossy-wet, almost decomposed foliage, Yet vibrant with the memory of Summer. I ponder at the unique beauty of each season: How unusually are blending—all four in one! How lovely! The orange and lemon orchards by the sea Are looking like freshly decorated Christmas-trees! Sometimes, even Winter is visiting us with its icy-flakes: Fast, and with an uncommon passion, exalting the senses; Only to disappear as furiously as it came; Leaving us collecting hurriedly, holding its white treasure, Watching it dissolving instantly in our palms, frugally, As a childhood thought just forms in our minds with it… We are just reminded how ephemeral all is; but, We delight in the magic and beauty of all—all at once; Leaving traces in our souls, the same way Our breaths are altering the chemistry of atmosphere: Invisible but present, as the freshness of a memory… Nothing we touch with our spirit Will ever be the same again; nor the spirit itself: We are morphing like energy.