It is late Summer. The sun stays high, and often hot, in the sky. My hands, stretched out before me, take on a wavering tinge of jade, as the sun shines through leaves swaying overhead. It seems hard to believe that a change in seasons could be so near.
But then one morning, we rise to find that Persephone has gone, the cool, misty breath of Autumn hastening her on her way. The sun shines, not hot and bright, as before, but with a weak, silver light as it tries to filter through steel clouds which hold terrible promises of rain and snow.
And yet, golden light seems to fall all around as trees are struck with shades of brilliance–a lingering promise that Kore will return, making our hearts leap with a warm flame of anticipation.
But colder winds begin to blow with stronger force, threatening to extinguish such a hope that Spring and life will come again. For with Winter comes Eris, allowing discontent to creep in through the cracks of a broken home, as fog through a keyhole.
The days often seem long and bitter with cold, with brief moments of warmth and tender respite to break up the seemingly monotonous passing of time.
But still we hold to hope, that small flame flaring higher within us at unexpected moments. Surely Spring will come again. It always does.
But will we still be the same?