I can still reminisce about the house where eclectic bits of my childhood memories could coalesce into one
So Elysian and phantasmal that putting it into words would be elusive and recondite
The vivaciousness had now desiccated and was left saturnine, but the memories remain cordial in nostalgia
The house was an unwavering and eternal companion in which I could succumb and find nirvana
It was utopia where I could plunge into a state of oblivion from the attractions of the world
A place where life required no destination and perception of time
I can remember surrendering into the serene and placid arms of its garden
Its liveliness and lusciousness enchanted me, despite being encountered daily
All life encompassing the house fell into harmony with one another
Spring and summer gifted the house with the mellifluous euphony of birds, gentle whispers of the wind, and rustling branches amalgamated, submerging me into a deep trance
A large vista of sunlight hit the earth with refulgent splendor and overwhelmed me with rapture
An ideal place to reverie and reconcile with nature
The vibrant colors start to fade when autumn walks into the garden
It denudes the trees of foliage and paints the green with orange and nostalgia
It blows a chilly breeze sending several species of animals into migration
But there was one thing I did appreciate autumn for doing so, which were the leaves it piled before winter arrived
Whenever winter made a grand entrance with amazingly ornate snowflakes, I retreated into the house for warmth
Winter did not paint the earth with color but brought with it a whole new theme
It adorned the divested trees with pristine, soft, and untouched snow
It sent white angels descending from above which I watched with great awe from the big windowsill frosted with ice.
I breathed onto the glass and drew a window with four panels using my finger, knowing that I would meet the four seasons again next year
