It is July 9th and already I long for chilled winds that bring in the smell of leaves and autumn harvest.
Twigs that scratch the windows, the heels of my laced boots hitting black pavement, leaves swirling, wearing layers of lace and linen. Blowing scarves, torn stockings, knitted sweaters, lace hand gloves and a locket around your neck swinging and catching on branches as you dance down a dim lit foggy path.
An opposite Persephone, I come alive with the passing of summer. My true season.
I am however finding summer to quite delightful. A time of rest, laying out in blowing fields of flowers. Picnicking with lemonade and strawberries, reading by the river streams, lazy days picking wild flowers and collecting honey. I very much enjoy the beauty of the summer, but I feel that we all hold our true season.
There are some people I see, that hold their season so beautifully it is as if you can see a veil of flowers floating gently behind them as they walks on snowy streets, or a man in the heat of summer with frost in his beard.
This is a wonderful piece of writing, and so true. I never thought of myself as an opposite Persephone but that is what I am. I think snow runs in my veins.
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