Autumn sidles into my garden wearing white Plumeria blossoms in her hair. Dressed in gauzy greens with an occasional flash of colour, she looks as though at any moment she might leave. She hasn’t yet decided and is not one for hasty decisions.
She holds in disdain the blowsy brashness of Summer. Autumnal hues are understated but elegant. She is overall, more reliable, less prone to moody outbursts. This lady keeps her own counsel.
Autumn evokes the slowing of passions and an air of fulfilment. Aloof, even distant, she looks down her nose when that bouncy hare, Spring, takes the stage. All that vim, vigour and fecundity is exhausting and so unnecessary for the tortoise in Autumn. She takes pride in measured responses.
Our lady Autumn, finds a greater affinity with Winter, although he can be deathly boring sometimes. He keeps dropping off to sleep mid-conversation, unless the subject is about him. He is by nature prone to morbid introspection, having time to spare and little energy. Some have even accused him of slothfulness. Although we won’t ask who ‘some’ are.
But currents run deep in Autumn. So much happens beneath her tranquil demeanour. I offer her a space to settle and take refreshments. A cup of herbal tea? Sage perhaps? No offence, of course. She is after all, the epitome of sageness.
She doesn’t reply. I look up to find her gone.
Sassy Summer sashays in to claim centre stage again, feverishly strutting her stuff, refusing to leave.
Oh dear! I’m so over her theatrics.