Hypothesis of Nature

I have a little problem, can't dismiss
These gloomy, wintry skies that seem to me
Not gray, as onerous hypothesis,
But pearly, silver-like reality.
What earlier were instants of surmise?
The earth was green for just a fleeting time
When aspens turned to gold before my eyes,
The morning-glorly ceased its fragrant climb.
The leafless bogh, the empty field, appears
Untenable but soon be otherwise
Because much more than I can theorize.
I must be quick to question every clue
Of April when hypothesis it's too.