January is fire and the struggle to survive
February is frozen mud, snow, melted mud with a sad attempt to wash it all in pink.
March is wet, swampy with unexpected snow but the first hint of green.
April is a cocoon in which we all dream of rebirth.
May is feeling the heat of the sun and breath of the air for what seems like the first time.
June is lacy and teeming and feels like full, ripe blackberries.
July is sultry and explosive.
August is a desert plain that feels endless.
September is a love letter written to all the things we didn't do but meant to.
October is a reaper giving us life from the death of other creatures.
November is reposeful mourning.
December is one last shining wish to end the year gone by.