not fall, not winter

time has passed now the trees had been orange then and became empty of their bounty soon after and winter came as was meant to be ice crunching beneath my boots bundling up to fix the furnace but now the world is budding with little snippets of green and the baby leaves so soft to touch the lilac bush is ready to bud and though it is no longer fall when you left or winter when we recovered but instead the spring we walk into though time creeps ever on one moment of distracted thought is my only warning before the grief of your passing reminds me it is still there and though it is not fall, or winter, but spring i am in my bed weeping because i just remembered the way you sounded when you said my name