SEASONS ON BOARD
I don’t know who put them there, or when they did so. They make for a nice addition though, a seasonal table spread across the slats in the fence.
On the left is winter. A snow-laden evergreen droops beneath the weight of a soft, white sheath of snow. The ground below is shielded, a smear of earthen brown that lets the passing woodland creatures know that there is safe haven to be found in those confines.
The next one over is autumn. A tree in full golden regalia proudly proclaims the glory of the season, the wonderful transitioning of the season. The roots of the tree spread outward, extending the majesty of the mighty golden crown. Entwined in those roots are the ruddy remnants of fallen leaves, the passage of time.
On the right is summer. Bouncy blue blossoms seem to waver in the breeze, white pupils staring out from the centre of each. Golden brown stalks hold the blue heads high, swirling in a smear to the invisible ground beneath.
Three seasons on three boards.
It begs an interesting question. The paradigm has always been four seasons, and yet here, on the weathered slats of wood, there are only three represented. So what happened to spring? Why was that vibrant season of rebirth not represented?
It is a conundrum to be sure, but upon closer inspection the fortuitous truth is revealed. At any other time it would not be true, but on this particular day, with droplets falling gently from the skies above, spring is everywhere.
It is in the muddied yard. It is in the falling rain. Looking up over the fence, beyond those impressionistic representations of the other seasons, it can also be seen in the blooming branches of the overhanging tree.
Those buds will soon erupt in a waving sea of green. They will announce the arrival of the season of growth and portend the coming of summer.
It seems unfair that spring does not have representation on those boards, but it is even more unjust that spring is the only one to be appreciated beyond an impressionistic portrayal on the boards of a fence.
Such is the life of a season, cycling ever onwards towards the next.
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