a worthy chill,
the thrill
of awake among the
hibernation,
of the shake
to stave
off
frost, and 
calcification
to move, lest
the static state overcomes
thee.

alas,
the cowardice of
summer,
first burst in
vibrant, autumnal rage
now,
withered, stiff
unchanged,
barren seeming, and
to the
faulty of spirit,
with ignorance seething,
all seems
dead,
done, and lost, and
darkness,
a brief eternity,
rise to set with no in
between,
a night, almost, un-leaving. 

but us bold,
we know,
the start of all,
otherwise, for
granted taken,
all
that 
life
holds origin within
the almost or total
frozen,
all potential, energy,
for now,
seeping with kinetics,
just waiting
and
remembering how.