Coup d’été
T’was on a night, a night like this,
ice crystals in the dark
effervescing ‘round the glow
of street lamps in the park,
and chiming lightly ‘gainst the glass,
a million temple bells
pealing out a gentle prayer that
all would soon be well.
But stepping past the lamp light’s glow
another world appears
where chimes of falling ice crystals
are more like frozen tears
that steam then stiffen, salty drops
littering darkened trails
where winter sharpens icy claws
on frosty iron rails.
Along this trail a stranger came
all huddled in a cloak,
her breath puffed out along the way
like breadcrumbs made of smoke.
She looked back o’er her shoulder twice
while heading t’wards the light
but as she neared her outline blurred,
and vanished in the night.
But just before she disappeared
it seemed I caught a glance
of green leaves twined around her brow,
of flowers in her hands,
and for a second caught the scent
of some sweet garden spice
and thought I heard a silv’ry voice
sing through the chiming ice.
Oh, Summer’s walking Winter’s trails
and carries ‘neath her cloak
the seeds of warmer days to come
from moss to mighty oak.
More patiently than I am, she
is waiting for her chance
to overthrow the icy king
she’s plotting to supplant.
I wait for her to spring the coup,
for Winter, overthrown,
to melt before her radiance
as she sits on his throne.
and with a smile that melts the snow
her vernal court convenes.
The Winter King is dead and gone
Long live the Summer Queen.
But until then I watch ice crystals
play in lamp light’s beams.
and keep her plots of coup d’été
tucked safe within my dreams.
#339
Linda Studley 