Seasons pass around me. Spring to summer. Autumn to winter. Like the passage of time in an old movie, I see leaves bud and grow green. I smell sultry summer roses then, in a blink, I bask in the golden glory of autumn. I feel the heavy frost of winter approach. One season is scarcely born before nature grows pregnant with the next.
Today’s merchants add to this rush of time. Easter pastels appear in the stores while, outside, white snow still blankets the ground. From May into the summer, banners of red, white, and blue wave together. Suddenly we are greeted by the earthy hues of Halloween and Thanksgiving. On a recent trip to the grocery store, I spied a frozen cake sprinkled with red and green. Christmas colors, two weeks before Halloween! It seemed almost alien.
When I come out of my story, I’m often jolted by the era, sometimes by the mere existence of microwave ovens and motor cars. Maybe that’s why these seasonal shifts have such a hold on me. Nature matters. As I create, I feel wrapped in her arms.
In Em’s world, there are no stores. Not as we know them. There are no fireworks nor 4th of July flags. No Halloween witches. No Christmas angels. None of the trappings our society dons to mark the seasons.
It’s funny how a story takes hold of a writer’s mind. I can only hope the final book has the same effect on my reader. Whenever that may be. ∞