So the world spins

The world has spun since then, day with crisp walk
down muddy path, past snowy mountain view;
breathing in nature’s sweet scent; turned earth,
fading flower, petals drifting off stalk.
Some of us lost in talk, rest found in muse,
we walked in year’s death, waiting for spring’s birth
to render approaching darkness
with blue sky’s finality, fresh lightness
draping land in gold and cool, cold shades
where lambs fill fields and flowers push through.
Splashes of colour, dappling hedgerow
like artist’s palette, mixing shades and hues
as nature picks up brush, enlivens views,
painting hedges for homes for crow and shrew.
And so the world spins and spins and spins
streaked with paint strokes where new life begins.

 Sonnet 16 of 100
The above was inspired by a walk I went on with a few of my closest friends in Cumbria, last November.
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