Perhaps because I live, as I've always done, in more than one place, this may make my take on the year's rythms a bit different.
It is, however, mine.
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SEASONAL
Which birds go where, I do not know,
I never learned such things,
but as each summer fades I go
pressed by rememberings.
Once more I’m bound by friendship’s round,
where we roved long ago -
and northward far, thole duty’s har,
to clutch for what we owe.
Each season’s change, a transhumance,
makes life a constant flow
and where we choose, and not time’s chance,
makes sense of what I know.