seasons

it is the season of mauve flowers.
all year long the bare branches
of the jacaranda tree
stand. unflinchingly.
a sight unto themselves.
a life lesson.
pitiable. enviable.
 
until spring makes us forget
lets us see the world
through mauve tinted glasses.
floral flavours find favour.
and for one breezy season
we dream with our eyes open.

incandescent dreams
soon to be blinded and dimmed
by fierce and mellowing suns.

as the tree will turn itself over
to other seasonal onslaughts
it will be but the spring
of our discontent.
and the bare jacaranda
much like our vacant eyes
will follow trails of
the trampled remains
of once upon mauve loves.