Monday, 23 March 2015

Season's Greetings

Swinging her bumble-bee coloured wellies while attempting to dive-bomb bread crumbs onto the heads of unsuspecting goose subjects, the little girl gained no attention from her human relations.

Relations being a loose term by the way. For various reasons.

Mostly though, it lies within this particular day of baby whisper breezes, and one tentative cherry blossom who had had too many seasons of being destroyed by wayward footballs to come out too full for too long. Not to mention it hit zero the night before anyway.

It was supposed to be the season of new starts and Winter was on a mission despite having recently retired only a few days prior. As he approached the girl, better known to himself and other folk of nature as Spring, she landed a bit of crust on the head of a bobbing goose, causing it to squawk, spin around and pull the others nearby into a frenzy of waddling argument.

"Don't the humans do enough of that already?"

"Nope." She replied popping the "p." She tore off another piece and held it up near her nose, one eye closed and the other squinting an angle of aim. "It's fun."

Winter snorted and gracefully folded his six foot plus frame onto the bench. Spring turned her head sideways to Winter and giggled.

"Still carrying that face? Don't you get bored. Looking like cracked brownies? I would." 

Winter raised a brow at her sugary metaphor. Last time he had seen Spring she had resembled the cartoon version of a Roma. In other words, a lithe dancer the colour of chocolate with a voice of drum beats. "No," he replied."Besides, looks neither here nor anywhere this side south of the Arbor. It's your turn. Where's the weather gone? Cherry blossoms don't count either. Percy came back yesterday so Demeter's all jubilant."

"Bored. Bored. Utterly bored."

"You could do your job."

"Boring. Did you see that exhibition last week? The beard one? Humans like that sort of thing. And cats. They love cats." With each sentence Spring lobbed a bread bit at a goose, letting out a little "ha" of triumph when the targets lost balance.

"They also like warm weather which facilitates the growing of cherries and strawberries." Winter added with all the patience required of one who tries snowshoeing for the first time. Spring dropped her bag of bread and hopped up on the bench, leaning, elbows on the back of the bench, toward Winter, who merely raised a brow as she exclaimed.

"Do they really. Really? Cause I couldn't see my feet yesterday. I think I was somewhere in Asia. In a field of white stuff."

"You don't say?" Winter drawled.

"Not done yet! Obviously not snow. Plastic probably. Bags. Wasn't really noticing. Cause the moutain was a million, trillion times better than snow. Not cold either. They wouldn't like real strawberries. Too squishy. Too much juice."   

Winter opened his mouth but Spring interrupted with a "oh look! See. See. That's why they don't care. Strawberry ice cream." She pointed at a five year old boy trailing behind his mother, occupied with breaking up a duel for a plastic giraffe between twin girls in the stroller she pushed.

"Give me one reason. One. Why should I give humans a new set of lives this year? Got my geese games. They've got cat pictures. Even. Square. Haven't Anansi and Loki gotten back from the tour yet? Time to move on."

"And leave the storytelling to the Greeks? Have you really fallen so far?" Winter pushed up from the bench in a huff. "You've lost me my best toque."

Spring snorted. "Toque? Seriously? You care about that?"

"I can care about lots of things. One happens to be my favourite hat."

Spring hopped off the bench and looked up at Winter. "Who'd ya bet?"

"Echo." Winter sighed and scuffed his boot in the mud looking more like a child than Spring. The geese who had lingered in hopes of further food scattered, calling Winter various names unmentionable in polite company.

Spring growled and pull off a true tantrum of stomping, fist punching and unintelligeable noises. One goose, either a bit slower in the head than most, or a bit more stupidly brave, got caught in the crossfire of one particular lash out of her bumble-bee wellie.

"Well then. I'll just have to prove that empty girl wrong. Words mean mud and I've got plenty to turn over. Some seeds to plant."

"Is she still playing in the human's fashion world?"


"Still obsessed with Narciss?"


"Brilliant. Laters Winter. I've got me a field of narcissus to grow."