Amrita Anand, Procession of the Seasons

Procession of the Seasons

Amrita Anand

Summer watched in silence as the rising sun turned the still horizon fiery. She had been growing tired of her duties for a long while now, but there was no forsaking them. It was not in her nature, after all, to be neglectful. Some would say the opposite, in fact—that she was prone to overdoing it when she did not have to go to such efforts. Only three truly understood her plight; they understood her position as well as their own.

The wind rustled behind her, stirring her hair.

“You are late,” she murmured, not turning. She knew without looking, the rasp of her partner’s trail against the ground, the gentle crunch of their footfall. “Kindly cease to make this a habit, or Winter will be very cross.”

“He is even worse than I, my darling,” Autumn said, forgoing their usual greeting. “And you know these things are hardly under my control. I only come when I am called, unfortunately not by you.”

Summer bit back a sigh. They were hardly wrong, though she often wished otherwise, barely able to keep up with what was expected of her. Even the beauty that came with the toil seemed … less worth it, these days.

“Nevertheless,” she demurred, “I look forward to the respite you and the others will grant me during these coming months.”

“Were it up to me,” said Autumn, “I would come to you sooner, and grant you a longer rest. You look tired.”

The breeze had begun to stir up the hem of her dress and the few fallen leaves along the tree line. The sun had risen a bit more, staining the seascape in vibrant reds and oranges and yellows; the colors of morning and rot. The same colors that, fittingly, adorned her partner’s cloak. Finally, she faced them, taking in their easy grace and the gentleness in their eyes. It was an alluring offer, to take up the opportunity for rest so easily—but she had quite a ways to go yet, and said as much to Autumn.

“Then let me be your escort,” was their eager reply. “You know I love to see your work.”

Though they were slow to praise, they had never lied to her, nor anyone else. She had no reason to doubt, and ample to believe. “Very well,” she acquiesced, heart skipping as she extended a hand for them to take.

The almost gallant gesture was unlike Autumn, really—it was Winter who was more prone to such displays, though nobody could tell from the way he carried himself in his domain. Beloved, sharp-edged Winter, soft as snow and cold as ice—and just as swift to thaw, especially more so in recent years.

Rather than consider any of the horrors of changing times that loomed over them, closing more of the distance between their transitory states by the year, Summer let those thoughts fade away as she linked her hand through Autumn’s. They tucked her into their side—voluminous, leafy cloak fluttering around her shoulders—and led the slow and steady march across her domain.

Truth be told, Summer was proud of her work. She had always prided herself on maintaining the perfect balance between all the best traits of her domain and the worst, and was pleased still by the results, even

though conditions were changing swiftly. Autumn squeezed her hand as she directed them towards a field of lavender: one of the highlights of her achievements this year, not the very least because she’d spurred its growth along for the very purpose of seeing her partner react with their characteristic wonder and love for the living.

Autumn generally let the flowers be—they had always been partial to late blooms, and prone to admiring them as they readied the way for Winter.

Even now, she delighted in their awe, wishing only for a moment that she could share this joy with Winter and Spring. Alas, it would only be well into the season that the pair could venture out freely without causing an early and untimely onset. By then, the flowers would wither and wholly become part of Autumn’s domain. There was splendor to be found there too, in the shades of the rising and setting suns, and the beckoning of Winter just around the corner—but Summer relished these private moments as much as the ones they all spent united.

She turned back to peek over the edge of Autumn’s cloak—no small feat, given their height—and watched the leaves dry and crack just a bit faster than normal, the yellow standing out starker than it had mere moments ago. It would not be unusual, given the strength of her reach this year, but it did mean that the pair could not stay for longer.

They barely needed a tug at their arm to concede, craning their neck to keep watching the purple sprigs as they passed them by.

“When I have escorted you home,” Autumn said at last, as dawn broke into day, “I shall enjoy returning to this field. Thank you.”

Summer smiled. It had become a little ritual between the two of them, a way for her to welcome her seasonal successor—one of the many

ways of saying hello and goodbye and I love you and see you soon that the Four had devised to make the transitions between domains easier. Perhaps others in their station might have mourned the passing of their creations before their very eyes, might have cursed the never-ending cycle for its constant demand for labor, but the Four—

The Four Seasons loved each other. The cycle was no death, merely a retreat, and it heartened Summer to cede her lands to her partner thus. No, not cede—this was no loss, merely a shift—a gift.

And Autumn expressed their gratitude in turn, taking up their tasks where she left off with a fervor that had not lessened since their first awakening. The next time she walked them across her fields and grasslands and bright, blistering sands, they would be just as eager, just as they would after that, and again once more, revitalized in spirit every year even as they diminished in station.

“I am still here,” they murmured, when she voiced the thought, tilting her head up to press a tender kiss to her nose. “And as long as I still exist, I shall not worry about the changes time has wrought upon my domain. I ... would prefer that you not do so as well. Take each moment as it comes, my love. There are many more to look forward to, before it is over.”

Summer raised her head just a bit further, and smiled when she met their eyes. She could do that much. She would look forward to every moment they’d share and relish in her partner’s presence for every single one of them, build monuments of vine and fruit in their name and love with everything she had in her soul.

She did not know when their time together would end, or if it would at all, and what the changing times would mean for the Four. For now, it was simply the turn of the seasons, and she the herald of Autumn’s reign.