Through the Window of My Car: A Poem in Four Seasons - Part II: Adagio, Scherzo, Rondo

Traveling back and forth every morning and evening, to and from the city where I worked, returning to the acreage where I lived, I passed through some of the most serenely beautiful countryside this side of heaven.

To many perhaps, that farmland would be unremarkable - gently rolling fields; natural woodlands, ponds and waterways.

To me, it was home to the white-tail deer that trekked through my yard in the pre-dawn mist; to red foxes, the occasional moose in the fall, and that determined little beaver who dammed up a stream, wreaking havoc with one farmer's water supply, but blessing the rest of the valley with water all summer in stream beds that were usually dried and cracked by early August.

It was also part of my daily journey back to serenity, my escape from the hectic bustle of the city, as I watched the unfolding of each season through the window of my car.

In part one of Through the Window of My Car: A Poem in Four Seasons, I likened poetry to music - music for the eyes, as well as for the heart and mind. This section of the poem contains the second, third, and fourth movements of my "word-symphony of four seasons."

The second movement of a classical symphony, the adagio, has a tempo marking indicating that music is to be played slowly - adagio means “at a walking pace.”

Summer lends itself to a slower pace - longer, warmer days that invite us to linger over cool drinks, or laze away our afternoons beside a sparkling pool.

Golden rays beat through the window,

molten butterscotch, languid and lazy,

Can't wait to feel sun-warm deck boards under bare feet,

body freed from the sticky bondage of "business-appropriate,"

soaking up the last of the evening sun;

Sweet, smoky scent - clover, meadow rue,

summer ditches full to brimming with summer's

profligate richness - uncommon beauty of "common weeds,"

azure with violet, ruby on emerald, lilac and amber,

points and daubs of glowing color;

Hands itching for chalk and brush,

my shutter clicks, recording flashes

of passing seasons; life drifts by in road-side waterways,

gentle wavelets tugging, soaking, gathering, laving spring's leavings,

long-shed shells of leaf and bloom,

Gliding silently on silver streams;

Dusty specks that held and sheltered growing life -

Golden motes in golden sun...

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The third movement once was invariably a minuet with trio. Now though, a scherzo with trio usually replaces the stately minuet as the third movement in a four-movement work.

The word scherzo means joke in Italian. Sometimes the word scherzando is used in musical notation to indicate that a passage should be executed in a playful manner

Silver, fawn, and palest gold,

The poplars shed their autumn coats;

Clattering, chattering, sifting down,

gilding path, scuffling ‘round;

Frost-tipped vines edge leaf-blown fields;

Frost-spiked rushes bend and yield

With creaking, sighing, rattling fronds;

Icy fingers sliv'ring ponds,

Crackling edges, spangling leaves,

Crunching grasses, rustling reeds,

Puffs of breezes stir and die;

Furtive rustlings, swift and sly,

Lift the leaves and set them flying

'Cross the sky - so bright in dying;

Fading day, slanting light,

whirling tree-wings everywhere;

Autumn's song is in the air

The fourth movement, an allegro, rondo, or sonata depending on the musical form used, indicates a return to the theme and tempo of the first movement, and an eventual summing up the entire piece.

Rondo (Fourth Movement)

Sifting down, the silent snows drift through the spruce boughs, settling softly,

Gently blanket field and farm house, swathing frozen pond and stream;

Crystals born in heavens glory, all the same; then glide to earth,

Changed and changeless, stuff of forts, and fights, and angels,

Powdered diamonds, childhood dreams;

Tiny tracks beside the road, a doe with young ones passed this way,

Fleeting shadows in the dawning, grey as mist that borns the day;

Sleepy black-caps greet the morning, scarcely heard among the boughs,

Muffled deep in winter's icing, whipped and white as fluffy clouds;

Silvered cutout peeks from garland,

Twinkling 'mid sweet-scented branches, splangling, dangling;

Bright with berries, bows, and tinsel, sparkling lights in crystalled strings;

Tiny birds and gleaming angels, gilded pear and pomegranate;

Halls be-decked, be-jeweled, be-ribboned, sets the scene for Santa's visit;

Pine, and cinnamon, and cider, gingerbread and candle light;

Shiny parcels, brightly-patterned wrapping tissue,

Boxes nestle 'neath the tree;

January comes too swiftly, February close behind;

Seasons turning, spinning faster, blurring days in blended rhyme,

Catch and bind with film and canvas, chalk and charcoal, shape and line;

Tiny frozen seeds of mem'ry, saved and savored, captured time;

Softly falling, winter whispers,

Drifting past frost-painted windows; danced in sunlight,

Dancing as the silent moon, glistening, shining down serenely,

Palest pearl on snow-blanched fields, gleams ghost-like on ghostly watchers,

Nature's children, furred and feathered, print in snow their quiet passing,

Pass the quiet night, and wait for spring...

© 2011, Text by Elle Fredine, All rights reserved

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