As I don't really recall writing it so, I can't tell you much about what I was thinking when I composed it -- or if I was even I was thinking. Whatever, this piece seems to run in a different direction than Eclesiastes.
Seasons for which we have no name;
Seasons which cannot be understood or explained;
Seasons which our ancestors knew;
which they, somehow, survived and struggled through...
Seasons of heat and seasons of cold;
Seasons of changes which have yet to be told.
Seasons of wet and seasons of drought;
Seasons when things happen which we never thought!
Seasons when the sky turns black;
Seasons when day is night and the night is cold and wracked
with howling winds and bitter death,
Seasons filled with the terror of the Fenris' breath...
Seasons of hope and seasons of love!
Seasons of longing for the Good Lord Above!
Seasons of hunger and seasons of feast...
Seasons of wonder and a season when, at last, the greatest are least.