They built a calendar out of trees and flowers in the meadows around the town.
12 groves in a circle, a new colour blooming each month.
In January, the white of snowdrops
In February, the yellow of daffodils
In March, the green of grey willow
In April, the blue of wisteria
In May, the pink of cherry blossoms
In June, the red of poppies
In July, the honeyed yellow of catkins on sweet chestnut trees
In August, the purple velvet of tufted vetch
In September, the crimson of burnet
In October, the gold of autumn hawkbit
In November, the grey beards clinging to the branches of the clematis trees
Then December comes.
In the silence nothing grows,
but much is buried
_________
Notes:
1. Written on September 4, 2019
2. And reminiscent of this previous tale – The town, the forest, the past
