Four Seasons

We spent an unforgettable 9 days in Arona at the beautiful villa White Lilac B&B. Naturally, every day we traveled to one or another corner of Lake Maggiore: fabulous islands, magical towns and villages.

All this indescribable scenic beauty prompted me to write this short story, which I dedicate to Donatella, Simon and Sonia.

 

Four Seasons

Autumn was dying. She was cold, because all her clothes simply flew off under the pressure of the winter winds. She, naked, was either drenched by heavy rain, or frozen by the first frosts - the breath of Winter. The sister was merciless. And when she bound everything around with ice and covered everything with snow, Autumn was gone.

But Winter's power was not eternal. The merciless old woman was melting. Her eternal, at first glance, nights were getting shorter and days longer. And the longer they were, the more painful her days became: the merciless Sun, as if emerging from the dark dungeons of Winter, was taking revenge on the villainous old woman who had imprisoned him for many months, and was taking it out on her. And now, there was no trace left of Winter.

The time of Spring has come. It seemed as if she had either been hiding for a long time in the cocoon of the old woman Winter, from which she emerged as a bright butterfly, or the old woman had been reborn into a young beauty. Everything around sang and blossomed, was born and grew. It seemed as if the beautiful Spring was walking hand in hand with the free Sun.

The nights flew by faster and faster, foreshadowing Summer's ascension to the throne. It was hot and, in its own way, merciless to those who spent too much time in the sun or could hide from its scorching rays. Spring's brother accelerated everything that his sister had started: everything was ripening and maturing, gaining strength and creating energy that would last until the next arrival of young Spring.

Having charged the batteries and filled the storage facilities with food, leaving behind pleasant memories, Summer handed over the watch to Aunt Autumn.  Her clothes differed from the green attire of summer: shades of red and burgundy, but also brown and gray predominated in them. It seemed as if autumn began to bleed and die already with her very acceptance of the watch from her nephew Summer. Her days were shortening, and the nights were becoming longer and colder. Each leaf of the calendar flew off, turned brown and fell right into a puddle. There it rotted and died. And sometimes the wind played with it until it itself no longer knew where it had carried it, finding itself in distant lands. Lucky were those fellow leaflets that people carefully picked up from the ground and placed in an herbarium, preserving their life for many years.

Dying, Autumn handed over the watch to Winter. Her last thought was the hope that her executioner Winter was not granted eternal life.

Years passed, centuries, Eternity, and the Seasons still replaced each other, were born and died, and were born again. As did everything that was born and died, and was born again with them. 

08.06.2024