in the darkest and shortest days of winter, the sun has much time to sit and reminisce, to remember the long days and short nights of summer
the beauty of rolling carpets of plush green grass
the sight of towering trees, limbs full of leaves that dance with the slightest of whispers of a breeze
the sounds of birds singing their nonsensical songs of happiness and freedom
the smell of the smallest of wildflowers, in the most bountiful of serene meadows
these things, these warm and comforting things are what the sun remembers when those meadows wither and die, those dancing leaves make their final performance as theyre ripped from the trees to the dying grass by a wind that carries cold with it, and takes the birds from their homes to a far away place where their voices can no longer be heard
if the summer is what the sun remembers when the world turns cold and hard
then the happiness you have given me is what i will remember when you are gone
and as the sun waits for the spring
i await your return