On hot days,
when the sun is bright,
the skies are clear,
and the air is sticky,
I would sit in front of the fan,
wishing it was autumn.

On chilly evenings,
when the air is crisp,
the leaves are golden,
and the trees rustle,
I would stare at the clowdy sky,
wishing it was winter.

On snowy nights,
when every room is cold,
the trees are naked,
and the wind is still,
I would lay awake in blankets,
wishing it was spring.

On bright mornings,
when the flowers bloom,
the rain cools into mud,
and the bees buzz,
I would pick flowers and remember,
that it is now.