Months For The Seasons Direct

Back inside, she took a red pen and drew a little snowflake on November 18th. Not to correct the calendar—just to remind herself that the world had its own schedule. The months were just names. The seasons were the real story.

“It does,” Lena said. “And the calendar says it’s still autumn. But the wind doesn’t care about December 21st. The wind knows.” months for the seasons

Maya seemed satisfied. She closed her eyes, and the snow kept falling, silent and certain, paying no attention at all to the calendar hanging in the kitchen. Back inside, she took a red pen and

Maya tilted her head. “Then what do they listen to?” The seasons were the real story

Lena kissed her forehead. “To help us find our way back to each other. December 25th, Valentine’s Day, your birthday. The Earth doesn’t care about those. But we do.”

They stood there for a long moment. Then a single snowflake drifted down, landing on Maya’s nose. She laughed.