The Seasons of Learning

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The Seasons of Learning I want to show you multitudes of pines and endless trees. They stretch from borders to borders and sometimes curves. The long expanse of giant sunflowers, the rosy tint of dahlias standing proud, each thorny roses in abundant hues the color of red, yellow and soft pink lined along that patches every time you step away from your room. There is a woodwork I will show you once I’m done sculpting. It is a piece of branch I got after I went to look for woods I tell you it will be a great work only if you can help me do it. We will be engrossed; I will definitely sway you to finish it. I will tell you to work with uncurling patience, each dedication you profess in making this piece will soon be rewarded. I want to tell you I’m doing painting too. There’s a canvas I want you to see, perhaps you will see your spirit in there too. If you want I will teach you how with each brushstroke life jagged lines can sometimes create coherent whole or perhaps another zigzag but I tell you, there’s always a way to paint your life so long as it is your life's vivid dream. You will be the next exhibitor and they will see your brushstroke too. I would also like to share with you a magical journey upon pages of books to trance you of humongous icebergs and icicle blocks reeking rigid cold. and a warm summer just like how scorched our skin was in April I will show you a promising season of autumn and spring loveliness - down long lines of evergreen shrub and maple tree leaves dangling up, as the sweet smell of cherry blossoms waft the air. I wish in plenitude to see you bloom like the cherry. In your life seasons of learning-What Is Called Life? I hope that it will transcend you to several limitless worlds. Cross the bridge of countless impossibility and deem it real. Make you seeker of truth in a world of half-lie, half-truth. Time will come I won’t be guiding your hand with each brushstroke. I can’t show you how to sculpt your next exhibit piece I won’t be there to see how you will write you first poem or pen your first summer get away. I can only tell you that each autumn, summer, winter or spring needs to be planted, ingrained within your soul until it grows root. -K.D.