Sight, Touch, Hearing, Smell, Taste,

What is the colour of the sky

on a crisp cold December morning

when the birds have fled

and the grass is dead

and a blue bottle lies

feet up on a dusty windowsill?

What is the feel of booted feet

trampling on the fallen leaves

drifting in the wind by the fences

speaking of a springtime months ago

when the budding trees

brought forth their blossoms?

What is the sound of the morning

on a quiet suburban street

with only the dogs barking

and a single car passing,

and the distant sirens sounding

somewhere out on the highway?

What is the smell of winter air

when the cold bites the nose

and the breath steams in the air,

and the wind has sharp spicy smell of

dampness and mouldering leaves

and memories of the passing year?

What is the taste of life

on the tip of the tongue

and the back of the throat

when life itself is tasted

not just as a memory past

but as the promise of a spring to come?