I look out of the window.

The sun rises, ash disperse
the wind blows, seasons change,
and the trees wave.

Summer. The temperatures rise.
A forest fire blares out in the woods,
the fiery sun hangs over our heads,
bold grizzly bears jump into the pool,
and I’m way too sweaty to touch you.

Autumn. The temperatures drop.
Evergreens don’t shed their vibrant leaves,
the neighborhood kids are back in school,
the backyard cats are as thick as thieves,
and I just blankly sit on my stool.

Winter. The temperatures drop.
Snow, snow? What snow? It is too warm.
The chilling wind cuts into your bones,
the thin crows can’t find any fat worms,
and I brush my curly hair with combs.

And Spring. The temperatures rise.
Butterflies fly with the gentle breeze,
flowers unfurl delicate petals,
children dance, trip, fall, cry with a bruise,
and I eat my breakfast of bagels.

This is Southern California,
and I look out of the window,
watching time quickly march on.