The book of seasons
Picture: Giulia ZhanabergenovaA book lies open
its pages alive with blossoms
their hues shifting from black and white to radiant colour
each stroke of ink, a whisper of an era
Here, seasons unfold in cycles of brush and verse
cherry blossoms scatter as hopes for renewal
fallen leaves echo retreats into solitude
and the moon rises, a silent witness
to centuries of longing
The weight of tradition presses gently
layered meanings drift like petals in the wind
plum for passing beauty, pine for the everlasting
The borderlands between village and forest blur
where foxes haunt the edges of knowing
mystical, in-between
To look upon a garden
is to see history breathing
a pine’s shadow carries the chill of distant winters
while lanterns reflect moons long gone
yet present still in gleaming silk
This is not nature untouched
but nature shaped, revered
held both close and cautiously distant
a mirror for the human soul
seasonal cycles
woven into the fabric of living
And in the end
the cherry blossom
is never just a cherry blossom
it is a thousand years of seeing
a transient breath
the pulse of eternity
Võ Thị Như Mai
