The Changing of the Seasons

Once there lived a girl with no name. A girl with no name who was found alone in a forest and raised by the Four Seasons.

You know them—Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. That is how they are remembered. Always in that order.

Winter is cold and lonely. Spring is young and impatient. Summer is idle and relaxed. Fall is old and tired. That is how they always are. It’s in their nature.

They say that the girl was found by all Four, but it was really only One—for the Seasons are never all together in the same place at the same time. The Season that found the girl with no name was Fall.

It happened in this way.

The forest was quiet in the early hours of the morning. Mist shrouded the earthen floor, and dew covered the grass. It glistened in the morning sun. The leaves, too, reflected the changing of the times.

They were a myriad of colors—much like the sun-painted sky at dusk’s dawn. Some fell to the ground, fluttering and spiraling slowly. Others had already fallen and now lay intermingled with the flowers and weeds scattered throughout the tree roots.

The autumnal air had shifted and started to grow chilly and cold. It was crisp, and the dew slowly began turning to frost.

The grass crunched underfoot as an old man walked through the forest amongst the trees. His frame was frail and skinny; his clothes—a large sweater and dark jeans—seemed to hang off him. His skin was wrinkled and weatherworn. His eyes—a forest-green—once vivid and bright, were now faded and dimmed. He looked so very tired, as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. This was Fall.

He shuffled through the forest, and all around him, the forest began to change. Leaves fell from the trees. Birds took flight, heading south. The old man paused and looked up to watch as they flew away. A grim smile passed over his face.

“Good, good,” he murmured. “It won’t be long now, not long at all.”

A squirrel scurried across the ground in front of the old man.

He called out after it, “Run along now; find someplace warm to rest, little one. My older brother will be along soon, and you won’t want to be out when he does.”

The old man glanced around himself as he said this, noting the barren trees and the fallen leaves. He looked at the sky overhead. The morning sun had disappeared behind gray clouds. A storm was brewing. As the old man looked skyward, snow began to fall like ash from the sky, fluttering down from the heavens to the earthen floor below.

“Not long at all now,” he murmured again in a tired voice. Tired, yet satisfied. His work here was almost done. Soon, he could rest.

Fall turned and began heading deeper into the forest at his slow, shuffling pace. Then, he stopped suddenly with a frown. He heard a strange sound carried along the wind through the trees—a sound not often heard by his ears. It was the faint, feeble sound of a newborn’s cry.

The old man followed it through the forest, and there, under a large evergreen tree, he heard the cry again. There was a child, wrapped in blankets beneath the broad boughs of the evergreen. Her cry was soft, and she squirmed in the blankets.

Fall stared down at her. He was at a loss. Confusion crossed his face. He looked around—there was no one in sight, no sign of whoever had abandoned this child. The fact they left her with some blankets at least showed some small amount of remorse. Fall hesitated. Pity was in his gaze as he looked down at the helpless child. He knew the agreement, though.

The old laws were set in place long ago when the world was still young. The Seasons were not to become involved in the affairs of the world at large. They were to affect them, but not be affected by them. They were not to look upon one person with kindness and yet look on another with wrath. They were to be indiscriminate in their very nature. It was what they had agreed upon. The old laws were absolute.

And yet, Fall hesitated because he knew. Fall was familiar with Death; they were not strangers. Winter and the other Seasons knew him too. Fall knew that when Winter came, this poor child all alone in the forest would not survive to see Spring. It wasn’t Winter’s fault, but it would happen all the same. And Fall wouldn’t have that.

He made a decision, then. A decision that changed everything. Not in the grand scheme of things—it wasn’t that colossal a decision. But it did change everything for this one child. And that was enough. Perhaps it would change more, but that remained to be seen.

Fall picked up the small child wrapped in blankets off the forest floor. Strange, Fall mused to himself with a wry smile, that he should be the one to pick anything up.

The child still cried, and Fall rocked her back and forth in his arms and held her close to his chest for warmth and comfort. He had seen mothers in the towns and villages do that before.

“There, there,” he hushed. “There, there.”

The child’s cries soon quieted, and Fall smiled again. His decision was made. There was no going back. There was only what lay ahead.

Fall continued walking slowly through the forest, the now-sleeping child held carefully in his arms. From time to time, Fall would stop and look up at the sky. Snowflakes still fell, but their descent was unhurried; unrushed.

“There’s still time,” Fall would murmur, and then he’d pick up his pace, as fast as his old bones could manage. “He hasn’t left yet.”

Fall was headed for the place where the Seasons went while they waited for their turn to walk upon the earth yet again. This was not how it’d normally go. Normally, Fall would wait in the forest for his brother, Winter, to find him and tell him to go home and rest. Rest until Summer told him it was time to wake up again. Not this time. This time, Fall had to catch Winter before he left home. The Seasons all needed to be gathered to hear what Fall had to say. To know what he had done.

The place Fall and the other Seasons go when they’re not walking upon the earth and affecting it is an incredibly difficult—if not impossible—place to find for anyone who does not already know where it is.

Deep in a distant forest, there is a small cottage in a wooded glade, surrounded by billowing clouds of fog at all times. You should know—these are not natural clouds of fog. At least, not natural compared to other fog clouds you might find elsewhere. You might even call them magic.

It is here, in this place that the Seasons pass the time, waiting for their turn to work once more. Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. So the rotation goes. That’s how it’s always gone, and likely always will.

At this point in our story, Fall had not yet returned to this place, but he was close.

Winter was making preparations to leave—having judged that it was almost time for him to cover the world with ice and snow. He was older than Fall, but only just. His hair and beard were silver streaked with gray and white. His eyes were cold, but there was a loneliness to them as well. Not many people cared for Winter, you see.

Spring hounded his steps—young and eager to return to the world. Every year, he tried to get away with arriving earlier and earlier. People loved him for that. Winter did not. Spring’s face was youthful; there was no stubble on his cheeks, nor would there ever be.

Winter turned to find Spring right behind him and sighed exasperatedly. “Not yet, Spring. Not yet. Be patient.”

Summer lounged on the front porch resting—her woven, straw hat placed low over her eyes. Her hands were laced behind her head, and her bare feet were up on the porch rail. Fall and Winter often had to remind her to wake up and get to work before Spring spent too much time in the world. Most people wouldn’t care, but the farmers would start to get nervous.

All Three Seasons looked up, surprised, as they saw Fall return, stepping out of the billowing clouds of fog surrounding the wooded glade. Winter and Spring stopped in their tracks. Even Summer opened her eyes a bit.

“Fall, what are you doing? It’s not time yet,” Winter called out to his younger brother with concern.

The Four Seasons had not been gathered in one place at the same time—not since the world was young, and so were they. This was not normal. Not in the least.

Fall walked up to his siblings on the porch and wordlessly showed them the child sleeping in his arms. Winter went paler than he already was, and Spring fell forward off the porch. Summer gasped. Fall held up one hand and put his finger to his lips.

“She’s sleeping,” he murmured. “I found her all alone in the forest. I couldn’t leave her there.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Winter broke it. “Fall, what were you thinking?” he demanded in a low whisper so as not to disturb the sleeping infant. “This sort of thing—it just isn’t done. We all agreed!”

Fall held up his hand placatingly. “I know, I know,” he said. “I will take full responsibility for the consequences of my actions. But I couldn’t abandon the child to die all alone. I just couldn’t. She’s staying here with us until she’s old enough to survive on her own.”

Fall stared fiercely at his siblings, daring one of them to object. His eyes were still tired, but they were determined as well.

Spring suddenly became distracted by something, anything else really, avoiding his older brother’s piercing gaze. Summer shrugged unconcernedly and then closed her eyes and began snoring lightly. She was faking—they could all tell. Winter found himself in the undesired position as the voice of reason. As the eldest, he often found himself in that position. He shook his head with as much exasperation as he could muster.

“Fall, think about this for a moment. Think about it reasonably. You go and help this one child—fine. What about the next one? What about all the other children in the world? You can’t help them all!”

Fall stared back at his brother. “I know I can’t save them all,” he said. “As much as I might want to, I can’t. But this child right in front of me, this child I’m holding in my arms right now? I can save her. I can help her.”

He straightened his posture, defiant. “I’ll raise this child until she’s old enough to care for herself. If I have to do it alone, so be it.”

His last words were more forceful—they awakened the sleeping child. She cried softly and squirmed under the blankets. Fall began rocking her awkwardly as he had before. He wasn’t used to such things. It didn’t seem to be working this time, because the child kept crying.

Summer opened her eyes and got to her feet. She wandered over to the waking child and made silly faces at her endearingly. Spring joined her, tickling the child gently until her cries turned to giggles. Fall simply looked at Winter, standing alone on the other side of the porch. Winter stared back at him, seeming to be cold and uncaring. Then, he sighed.

“Very well, the child stays.”

Fall’s eyes widened, and he began to smile.

Winter held up a finger. “But,” he cautioned, “only until she comes of age. She cannot stay with us forever, Fall. She belongs in the world with the rest of her people.”

“Oh, I know,” Fall said. “I know.”

“She needs a name,” Spring said. “All things do.”

“I found her under an evergreen tree,” Fall said helpfully.

Summer rolled her eyes. “You can’t call a child “Evergreen,” Fall.”

“How about Everleigh?” suggested Spring.

Fall thought about it. He gazed at the child in his arms. She giggled at him. “That’s a good name,” he murmured. “Everleigh.”

Winter walked across the porch and joined his siblings. He looked down at the still-giggling child. She looked up at him with wide, staring eyes and laughed. For the briefest of moments, a faint, warm smile seemed to pass across Winter’s face. And he didn’t look so cold and lonely. But that would be absurd. Then, that moment was gone, and Winter put his hand on Fall’s bony shoulder.

“I must go,” he said. “With your abrupt departure, the world must be in a state of confusion. They’ll be waiting for me.”

Winter turned and began walking down the porch steps toward the edge of the billowing fog clouds. As he did so, he called over his shoulder, “Oh, and Spring? You’ve been early the past couple of years. Before that, you were late. Make sure you keep track of things and arrive on time this year.” Winter always said that.

Spring grinned. His youthful face was alit with mischievousness. “Sure, Winter,” he promised cheerfully. Spring always said that. But every year, he seemed to forget his promise and lose track of time. He either came early or late, but one thing was certain—Spring was never on time.

The Three Seasons watched as Winter walked out into the world and left them standing on the small cottage’s front porch. He raised his hand in farewell and then vanished in the billowing clouds of fog surrounding the wooded glade.

And so, the Four Seasons brought the child up as best they could, relying on years and years of observing people in the world raise their children. As she grew and changed, something strange began to happen.

Winter is cold and lonely. Spring is young and impatient. Summer is idle and relaxed. Fall is old and tired. That is how they have always been. It’s in their nature. But that is not all they are anymore.

Winter spends time with a giggling child, chasing her around a wooded glade. He laughs warmly and no longer feels so alone. There is someone always happy to see him. Spring is still young and always will be, but dealing with a young child has taught him the art of patience and timeliness. Summer has lost her idleness. It seems she’s always doing something with the child, teaching her new things, and planning crafts and activities to keep her occupied. And Fall? His eyes are no longer tired. They’re bright and cheerful once more, and the weight he once carried on his shoulders is gone.

Once there lived a girl with no name. A girl with no name who was found alone in a forest and raised by the Four Seasons. They gave her a name and a home. She gave them a reason to change. And they did.

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