Storytime with Amber

“My Seasons!” Mother Nature greets them with her arms outstretched. “It is good to see you.”

Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer step forward and embrace her in turn, as they do each year. 

“Now, let’s see, anything of note?” Mother asks.

Autumn feels a pang of guilt, as she does every year before her Equinox. In just a few short weeks, she will have to start sowing death. But she doesn’t say anything. This conversation has happened so many times and the outcome is always the same. Autumn’s magic cannot be changed, will not be changed, by Mother Nature. So she is stuck in her role of death and decay. It does not matter how much she loathes it, she can’t change her magic alone. There’s nothing else to do.

“I’m getting hotter!” Summer’s masculine voice booms through the quiet as he flexes the muscles in his tanned arms. Winter snorts and Autumn just rolls her eyes. 

“We’re all getting hotter, Sum, that’s barely worthy of discussion,” Winter’s cool voice cuts in. “Even I’m heating up. My ice keeps melting.”

As the eldest of the Seasons, Winter and Summer ‌do most of the talking. The Solstices always got the attention, from both humans and Mother Nature. Meanwhile, Spring is only heralded as the beginning of Summer while Autumn has always been mostly ignored. She encourages people to do nothing but stay in, drink tea, and nap. And she is sick of it. 

“Summer has been encroaching into me,” Autumn says brusquely. Her tone bites, with a chill to it. “He can take his hotness elsewhere.”

Mother Nature turns to Summer. “My dear—” she starts, but Summer interrupts her. 

“I know, but I can’t help it!” he whines. “Any amount of sun shines brighter than I expect and the heat becomes trapped. I’ve tried everything. It’s not as if I can turn my magic off.” By the end, Summer’s voice is quiet, defeated. 

A blanket of sadness falls over them. Mother Nature’s eyes grow misty. “You cannot fight who you are. The world may change, but seasons must do what they have always done.”

Three of the Seasons nod in agreement, repeating, “Seasons must do what they have always done.” 

But Autumn has a far off look about her. “Turn my magic off,” she murmurs to herself, lost in thought. Maybe she doesn’t need to change her magic after all. Maybe there’s another way.

It is the Autumnal Equinox and there is no crisp bite to the air, no changing of leaves, no ripe apples drooping on branches, and no pumpkins turning orange. Autumn has made her decision. As her powers rise to the surface, she quells them. It’s difficult to fight the magic, to fight her very being, but she is determined. There will be no death this year—not by her hand.

Autumn hates how everything dies.

Every year she watches in envy as Spring creates life. The buds of leaves, the flowers, the baby lambs being born and chicks hatching—all of it is full of wonder. Spring breathes movement back into a world that Autumn has left limp, stagnant, and decaying. Everybody looks forward to the Spring Equinox all winter long, noting with glee that the days grow longer and the nights finally shrink. There are sighs of relief as soon as the frosts begin to melt. Everybody is bustling and moving and happy again. Spring is the opposite of Autumn in every way. 

But neither of them can compare to the Solstices. Summer sees hot days, splashing in blue waters, and running through verdant forests. Everybody loves Summer. He is always awash in activity, never resting and always moving with a bright, beautiful positivity. Spring is birth and Summer is life. 

Winter doesn’t have life-giving magic, but her position is still enviable. She is revered, with celebrations around the globe devoted to her solstice. Her Season is filled with brilliant white fields of snow and fanciful falling flakes. Her ice carves out breath-taking patterns and she can make an entire landscape unrecognizable with her touch.  Winter doesn’t need to cause death; she simply picks up the broken pieces that Autumn leaves behind. That is not to say that Winter won’t kill. Her icy beauty holds real danger. She simply doesn’t have to.

And Autumn? Autumn is ignored. Or, if she is acknowledged, it is only in dismay as people lament the end of summer. Autumn brings the end of playing outdoors and growing green plants. Autumn means that everything will turn red and orange and die, not even living long enough to see Winter’s majesty. 

But this year will be different. Autumn refuses to be a murderer. She wants to create, not destroy! Spring has always complained about changing weather patterns and seasonal allergies, but he honestly has no idea how good he has it. Autumn is sick of it all. She does not want this position, she never asked for this to be her fate! Starting now, she is choosing a different path. She is ready to be an entirely new Season.

Only… the sole magic that she knows is what she has. But Autumn cannot allow herself to participate in that any longer. If she cannot do any good, she will at least stop doing harm. She will simply do nothing. Hold her magic at bay. Maybe by next year, she will have the secret to creating life figured out. But this is a good first step. For the first time in a long time, Autumn feels excited.

After the first day of her Season, Autumn’s magic grew a little easier to ignore. Now, nearly 2 weeks later, it is barely even noticeable. And the world is still green and teeming with life. No leaves have changed, none have fallen. Flowers still retain their petals. And although some plants look wilted, none have died. The trees don’t have any fruit ripening on them, making branches heavy. Nothing falls on the earth beneath and no flies or wasps buzz around the rot. Animals might slow, but they do not fall. No, everything stays as it was in Summer. There is not even a harvest, because nothing ripens. There’s no need. Plants no longer need to die, so they no longer have to produce seeds! 

Autumn no longer needs to kill. It is liberating. It is beautiful. Mother Nature is a fool. Nothing HAS to die, but Mother allows it? Encourages it? No, this way will be better.

“Autumn, what are you doing?” It is as if she has been summoned.

Autumn sighs as she reluctantly turns away from the vine she is holding to answer Mother Nature. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly. You’re not doing anything. Despite having a job to do.” Mother Nature’s tone is stern and disapproving. Autumn has known since creation what her role is and that she’s expected to carry it out. Deviation is not tolerated.

“Mother, you have to understand, I’m doing this to help!”

“To help whom?!” Mother Nature shouts. “Yourself? Why else are you shirking your responsibilities? Your very reason for existing?”

Autumn’s face crumples and cracks, a leaf before it falls. And then she collapses, the energy sapped from her. 

“I don’t want to kill.” Her voice is small and frail from the floor.

“You have no choice. Seasons must do what they have always done.”

A wind picks up around Autumn. Leaves swirl around her, hoisting her up. Her words whip out of her and the leaves blow ever higher, pulling her hair out in auburn tendrils all around her.

“Why? Because you say so? How can you allow this? Why is death and decay part of your plan? Why must I cause so much pain? This is unfair, it’s always been unfair, and I refuse to do what I’ve always done!”

Emotions flash across Mother Nature’s face, too quickly to make them all out or hint at their logic. Shock, laughter, anger, sadness all swirl through the hurricane of emotion around her until she reaches the eye of her storm and finally stills all at once.

“You will see. There are consequences to every action.” And with that, she turns away from Autumn.

Winter saw how Autumn had not happened this year. It is unheard of—this is not the way things are done. Autumn, like her brother Spring, is younger and full of so much angst. She’s still trying to find her place in the world and amongst the Seasons. Winter has heard her complain about how causing death is difficult, but she’s never seen it that way. There’s a stillness to death, a beauty in it. Especially in something frozen to death. Life is so busy and noisy—it’s too much for her.

Autumn has attempted to convince her to contain the cold, but Winter honestly can’t see the point. Not to mention that it would be too painful to suppress her magic. She doesn’t have the will and strength of youth that Autumn does, but even if she did, she does not agree with her sister’s actions. No, Winter will spread, just like she does every year. Seasons must do what they have always done. As the Solstice draws near, she feels the first frost of her magic pulse through her, and she releases it as a burst of wind through the air. The weather has cooled slightly with the shortened days, despite Autumn’s best attempts to stop it, but now the cold swirls in with a vengeance.

Winter brings in her storms of snow and ice, covering the world in blankets of glittering white. Trees, their branches still laden with leaves, catch the snow as piles build up and branches break under the weight. They suffer, unable to find peace in restful dormancy. Flowers droop and snap under the burden of freezing rain. The insects that are still alive slowly start to freeze to death and the animals don’t fare much better. Winter is pleased.

But Autumn looks around and all she sees are the vibrant colors of the flowers, frozen in glass-like ice. If she could, she would freeze all life so that it can stay this perfect and beautiful. No brown, no rot, no decay. Just a world frozen; trapped in life. And it is all her doing! Autumn can only imagine what the future will hold. There will be celebrations in her honor. All life will look back and remember the time of death as nothing but a distant memory, a cold and troubling time completely eradicated by her. She cannot wait. This first year is surely just the beginning.

Spring looks around at the horrid state of the world. Autumn has ruined everything. It’s bad enough when she breathes stillness and suffering into the world, but somehow it is worse when she doesn’t. 

Spring has spent his life taunting his sister about their roles. His magic is that of birth and new beginnings, while hers is the magic of endings. Finality. They are as equally opposite as Winter and Summer, although the Equinoxes are smaller and often overlooked. So, instead of taunting the older Solstices, Spring picks on Autumn. And with good reason! The leaves she causes to drop stifle his saplings and all new plants that he tends and nurtures dry and drop by her hand. She undoes all of his hard work every. single. year. 

He’s always wished that, just once, Autumn would stop complaining and actually do something to end her tirade. Now she has, but somehow that’s even worse. Leave it to Autumn to ruin everything. The Seasons must do what they have always done, and Autumn can’t just ignore that.

Spring feels his magic grow in him and he gently pushes it out, testing and feeling where there might be space for him. There is nowhere for new buds on the trees. They are already too crowded with the leaves he started last year. He hunts for seeds to sprout, but there are none from last year. Instead, he takes what seeds he can find from the year before and coaxes them out, doing what little he can. But even the seeds he does manage to sprout are buried under the frost-bitten plants that normally would have begun rotting before Winter could get her hands on them. There’s no room for new growth and the old plants are too far gone to revive.

The good news is that there are still animals present. He focuses most of his energy there. Fawns and chicks and calves and puppies pop up everywhere. Spring worries how they will eat, but that’s less his concern than Summer’s. His older brother will figure it out; he tends to have all the answers.

The most important thing to Spring is that he hides his struggles from Autumn. He has to keep a strong façade, so that she will never see the weakness within him. Sure, he coaxes life for his Season, but she has the power to destroy it all. Spring worries that she has the power to destroy him. He would do so much with that kind of power, but it doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to Autumn. After years of belittling her, if she catches weakness in him, it could spell the end for Spring.

But he doesn’t have to worry. As Autumn watches, all she sees are the beautiful babies. She has wanted this for so long and, now that it’s finally happening, she is too caught up in the good to pay heed to any of the bad. This is the change that she has fought for, finally coming to fruition. Sure, there will be problems that will need to be figured out. Change is hard, after all. But it is also worth it! Autumn knows that everything will work out in the end.

Summer looks around at the state of the forest that he stands in. Leaves have lived well past their lifespan; they are now brittle and fragile. His magic will bring heat and scorch them—it takes the strength of young, fresh vigor to stand up to his own strength. 

A deep sadness grips Summer as he looks at the abundance of fauna. There is not enough vegetation to sustain their lives. For a moment, there is uncertainty. Summer knows he cannot change, nor would he want to. He is the greatest of the Seasons! He wavers as he remembers that his magic can be difficult for the weak to bear. But no, the uncertainty is gone almost as soon as it arises. Seasons must do what they have always done. Summer’s magic flares outward—a ray of heat and sunshine. The leaves fade as the sun scorches them. What little plants remain grow dry and brittle. Streams, without the shade of the trees, dwindle as they dry up. Fish struggle in the little water they can find. 

There are no berries, no wildflowers, not even the humans have enough food in their stores. The animals suffer, collapsing from thirst and hunger. And Summer still burns on. 

A spark. One spark is all it takes. Summer hopes that a storm might help, but the violent storms of his season are too unpredictable. The lightning brings a spark and the spark eats dry, dead vegetation until it is a flame that not even the rains of a summer storm can put out. 

The fire is devastating. It consumes everything in its path, leaving nothing but charcoal and ash. The vegetation that Autumn prevented from rotting now provides fuel, allowing flames to spread quickly amidst the underbrush. The fire burns and burns, billowing smoke up into the sky, blocking the sun. Everything is orange through the putrid air and ash rains down from above.

It is the worst fire anyone has seen in a century, maybe two. A noticeable amount of time, even to beings as ancient as the Seasons. 

Autumn looks around and all she sees is death. Orange, brown, yellow, and death. She was unable to prevent anything. She can no longer lie to herself. This is a disaster. And it is all her fault.

Autumn sinks to her knees, stirring up the ash and dust that are all that remain after the fire. All of this to put a stop to death, but instead she has destroyed everything. She hated orange, but now it paints the skies. What did she do wrong? How has so much destruction happened? Has this really all come about from her small decision to change? It was supposed to be a change for the better!

“My dear. Are you ready to listen now?”

Autumn doesn’t even look up at her Mother’s voice. Her attention is glued to her fingers, splayed in the ash. There is no nod, no agreement, but Mother Nature clearly takes the silence as agreement that she can continue. 

“The Seasons, life, all the world operates in cycles. Death is nothing more than a part of a circle.”

“No,” Autumn whispers, finding her voice. “No. Why did you make this my burden?”

Mother Nature sighs and kneels on the ground before Autumn, lifting her chin with a finger. Autumn looks away, avoiding her gaze. Pain contorts her face and tears make tracks in the ash that covers her as they fall down her face.

“I dislike death as well. Which is why you, Autumn, have been tasked with this duty. It is important that you, a Season who doesn’t revel in death, is the one in charge of it. Only deaths that are necessary need take place. Nothing more.” A pause and then, “Can you imagine if I had put Summer in charge of death? Or Spring?”

Autumn couldn’t help but scoff at that thought. There would be contests to see how much could be eradicated. She glanced up and Mother Nature was smiling back at her. 

“You are the most gentle of the Seasons, and just as important in the cycle as any of your siblings.”

“But why? Why is death so important? What went wrong with my plan?”

“My dear Autumn, nothing can live forever. You need to step back and view the bigger picture. Plants have to go to seed and die for their species to survive. Seeds last through Winter’s chill, storing energy for a plant that cannot survive the harsh cold. You saw the leaves that lived through two summers, yes?” Autumn nodded before her Mother continued. “Life is exhausting. Everything needs rest. The trees don’t die, they go dormant to sleep through winter. The leaves fall and become part of the earth; they feed the insects that crawl and nourish the soil for future life to grow. Life cannot exist without death, and wakefulness is not possible without rest. You are not personifying death. You are the Season that allows life to finally slow down and take stock of what is around them.” 

Autumn cries in earnest. The seasons must do what they have always done—she is no exception. Her power rises to the surface. Great heaving sobs leave her body as she releases her magic, sowing death and despair, rotting and destruction. And then she sleeps.

It takes decades to recover from the fire. Year by year, the Seasons work in harmony to slowly bring back balance. Spring gives life, Summer allows wakefulness, Autumn takes life, and Winter allows rest. And the cycle repeats. Eventually, the world returns to normal. The forests grow back and the ash is only a memory.

Autumn, after the hard work of restoring the Seasonal cycles, recognizes her magic for the necessity that it is and begins to understand the positives of her Season. She no longer sees people retreating indoors out of fear, but instead notices time spent gathering with loved ones to give thanks. People and animals alike enjoy the harvest and spend their time collecting the bounty that she provides as they prepare for Winter. Autumn still hates orange, but she can identify value in the changing leaves before they drop and allow the trees their well-deserved rest. And she rests at the end of each season, now that her anger is gone. Autumn finds contentment and she knows peace as she knows herself. Who could ask for more?