Calendar Mood

Spring. And the dull grey sky is weak, lies prey to and is slain by
his conqueror the Sun. The crisp breeze breathes life into bird song
and daffodils bow their heads obediently to it's command.
Mood is jovial and exuberant emotions promise to be as perennial as the
colour in the flowers. But this perpetuity cannot last.

Winter. Alas now the triumphant Sun raises his head (with some
trepidation), and sighs at the expanse of blackness before him. The
pure and tranquil heavens are now stifled by a clouded obscurity.
Jovial blood is drained and liquid, clotted lead fills the veins,
suffocating, contaminating, poisoning - and the eloquent, choral bird
lies dead and rotting at the foot of the naked, once embracing
tree.