To Everything There Is A Season

Spring is the first new season of each year. 
She arrives to the party with hands covered in gardening soil and hair dripping from April showers.
Her appearance, though, is easily forgiven because she brings with her boundless buds and flowers.
She freshens up the room and greets each guest with the promise of growth and renewal.
She is hope.
Summer is never dependable, sometimes she arrives early and then leaves for a while,
More often than not, she arrives months late; just when you had decided she wasn't going to come at all this year. 
But, just like spring, her negative attributes are forgiven and eclipsed by the goodness attached to her.
She is fresh peaches and creamy whipped ice cream. 
She brings the feeling of warm sand between your toes and puts waves in your hair that only sea water can achieve. 
She affords freedom and adventure, sprinkling wanderlust at infectious rates.
Most importantly, she brings with her the sun.
A side of the sun which embraces you for months.
It dances across your skin, painting your body with tan and freckles.
It's golden light chases away any cold weather blues and rejuvenates the spirit. 

Autumn arrives suddenly, in a flurry of back to school fresh starts with news that winter is just grabbing the mince pies from the car and shall be along shortly. 
Autumn is loud and cheery, there is no denying him once he has arrived. 
His voice booms, blowing a crisp wind in every direction which sets the leaves brought by spring and summer alight with fiery colour.
He has brought apples and blackberries, the ones you picked together as you hunted for conkers in a field. 
The hot cider he offers is drank beside friends under warm blankets, the smell of stew wafts through the air while he lights a toasty fire. 
There is no denying the frosty bite in the air that surrounds him, but autumn offers a sense of safety and comfort that warms you from within. 

Winter will slip in the back door without any real announcement. 
He'll have a red nose and mittens on his hands. 
The days he will bring are the shortest and coldest of the year but are filled with cosy snuggles and festive cheer. 
Winter calls us home, to be with those who matter most, for early nights by the fire and meals that last days. 
When winter arrives, it means the end of this party and the beginning of the next. 
But for now we must revel in autumn; his golden light will very soon be just a memory.