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Taking up Spring, who gurgled happily and tried to catch the sunbeams her Grandfather threw her way, Mother led them down the path and into their garden. She looked around, content at the fruits of her long labor growing happily. Her garden and her children grew fast in the Sun drenched months; their care and nurturing took all her time and energy. Spring was the youngest and most active, so she got the most care. If Spring were neglected, then the harvest would be paltry, and that was Autumn’s dowry. Suddenly tired, she went into the house.

Autumn watched her mother carefully. She tried too hard, did too much. Much like all mothers, she supposed. Without a word, she guided Mother and Baby up to their room. In the chair by the window, Mother sat in the day’s final sun. Spring fussed quietly and Mother held her to suck. Autumn smiled as Mother’s eyes slowly closed in contentment. She brought Mother a glass of cool water and closed the door. Moving through the house, she put everything to rights. Standing at the edge of the gardens, she moved through the plants like a whisper. With a gentle touch, she finished her mother’s work. The green corn turned a rich gold, the pumpkins waxed fat and orange, and the apples blazed red. Smiling at the trees, she watched their leaves catch fire in an eruption of reds, yellows and oranges before fading to brown and falling in a gentle rain. Gathering her harvest into her arms, Autumn smiled and tucked all away for the cold night to come.

Grandfather Sun bid a final goodnight and slipped low on the horizon. Autumn looked back to the house to see Winter standing in the doorway. The blue twilight made her white dress seem to glow as she continued to play her tune softly. Returning to the house, Autumn whispered, “I will see to Mother and Baby. The night is yours.” Nodding gravely, Winter walked into the chill dusk as Autumn shut the door for the night and slid the bolt home.

Gazing up at the stars, Winter trilled a welcome for her pale Grandmother Moon as she rose into the night. Pausing, Winter took a deep breath and smiled as the cool washed over her and through her. This was the time when she truly lived. Safe from the harsh rays of the Sun, the world was hers while everyone else slept. Her Grandmother smiled gently at her and walked on. Skipping into the woods, Winter laid her ear on the Oak’s great trunk. Even he slept deeply. The mistletoe high in his branches winked mischievously at Winter. They would not sleep, lulled by her pipes. In truth, Winter didn’t mind their company or that of the quiet pines. She continued on, skipping towards the Lake as the brittle leaves crackled underfoot. As she played, the night grew more still, the sky grew more black. The winds came, bringing with them the clouds to give Grandmother some solitude. Looking high from her perch by the lake’s edge, Winter whistled a welcome. She jumped down, landing where the water met the land. Taking a slow step, she walked upon the lake. First she walked the edge, then she circled closer and closer until she pirouetted slowly in the center of the lake. Wherever her foot trod, the ice formed deep. A scroll of frost decorated the surface. The winds took that breath of frost and gilded the grasses and fallen leaves. Dancing slowly, Winter called down the snow from the high clouds. At first only a few flakes would join her dance. Then, as her song grew more taunting and insistent, the flurries thickened into a fall. Around the lake and through the woods, Winter lead a merry dance. Finally, the flakes calmed, drifting against the trees and into hollows. The clouds disappeared over the horizon, revealing the Moon close behind them. The woods, silent again, glowed with her cold light. Winter’s tune grew quiet and lulling. The snows faded into the ground, while the winds calmed. Looking around, her dance had led back to the garden gate. Winter smiled sadly up at the Moon as she winked below the horizon. Looking opposite, the sky glowed pink heralding her Grandfather’s return. She waited, feeling his quiet warmth seep into the world again. As he finally came over the horizon, Winter heard her sister’s cry from the House. It was fitting the Baby Spring was first to rise. With a final trill, she slipped through the door held by a sleepy Autumn. A new day had begun.

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