'Seasons' by Heain Joung

Last autumn was beautiful, there was a warm breeze in the garden, and you were there. You had visitors every now and then. You didn’t like to have them though. You tended to say, “I don’t want to see them, I want them to go, to go away.” You held my arm tightly as if they were going to take you away from me. I said, “Don’t be rude, you know them, they came to say hello to you, you know?” You shook your head dramatically and said, “No, I don’t know them at all.”
    It is winter now, the breeze in the garden is crisp and you are not here anymore. I visit you every now and then. You are not happy to see me though. You say, “I don’t like this person, I want them to go, away.” You are holding a nurse’s arm tightly as if I was going to take you away from her. The nurse said, “Don’t be like that, they came to say hello, you have been calling for them all the time, haven’t you?” You said, “No.”

    There is no breeze in the garden today.
    It is cold.
    All is still,
    but spring will be here soon,
    so I’ve heard.