Seasons

Short excerpt from my novel, 'The Sound of Abundance of Rain'.



To read more, click here

A man’s attitude toward the seasons is as good a barometer of his character as one could hope to find. As a rule, I tend to avoid any individual who cites either balmy Summer nights, or the cruelties of Winter as favourable. Such extremes of persuasion can only point to similar perversions in personality. While violent outbursts of hot spewing rage are quick to destroy any relationship, the unwillingness or inability to reach such a state is just as damaging and frequently, even more injurious to live with.  
     Those inclined toward the more mild mannered seasons of Autumn and Spring make far more dependable - if not always so desirable - companions. Here again there are those who herald Spring’s arrival with chirping of their own and those that would slam shut the windows to drown out the noise but I have found it is best to be done with the latter. They are foolish and difficult and bothersome to boot. Their heart, in any case, is already filled to capacity, albeit with resentment, regret and the painful lessons of a thousand and one untold miseries. Conversely, those who cherish Spring are for the most part, joyous to be near, if you do not find their cheeriness a little tiresome. For while Autumn serves deservingly as nature’s apology for the untimely death of Summer, Spring is the eternal optimist’s grateful vindication of his soppy idealism. The proof in his Pollyanna pudding.
    More than a period of convalescence however, or time for contemplation after the exertions of yet another all too protracted Winter tenancy, Spring is the delivery of a promise made in the darkest of December evenings when no hope can be found to comfort. And we recognise her as the reflection of that promise that we each make to ourselves; the proof of Winter’s proclamation that to find love pure, one must first endure.
    Needless to say, Spring’s great failing is the same careless optimism that endears her to our hearts, and her belief that such hope is immutable. For Spring’s hope shall become Summer’s burden to carry.
    Truly, Spring’s great tragedy is that she makes promises that Summer cannot keep. It is no small wonder then that for as long as I can remember, in this corner of the world at least, Summer is recognised as the ‘season of broken promises’.  
    For my own part, as much as I am swayed by Spring’s hopeful subtext and the stimulating textures of Winter, it is the heady notes of Autumn over all others that encourage the souls fading embers with most success. I am all too aware that this most melancholy and introspective of seasons is most akin to my own temperament but I cannot accept that this is the sole reason for the attraction. I would direct the reader to the exuberance of the exploding maple as case in point, for such flamboyancy is not a charge commonly levelled at my character. Nor brilliance, which we might rightly use to describe the transcendent quality of light for which those rousing months are so famed. Still there are some who might view these examples in an entirely different kind of light and consider such showiness simply another example of Autumn’s awkward self image. A product of needing to prove herself better than she is thought of. A need to be noticed. Dare I say loved. And to those of you so persuaded, once again I stand before you guilty as charged. Yet even allowing for these explanations, I am no less of the opinion that Autumn is peerless in her glory. So bring the Summer, man’s thirst to slake; but grant me Autumn for autumn’s sake!
    The case for the impassioned defence, rests.

Reviews

[Anna]

I love the word choice, and the concept, well I have been trying to convince my sister pretty much the same thing for years now. I love the description of Autumn, (I love the colors and the harvest), its really fantastic in a muted thoughtful kind of way. I also read the first excerpt you have on your site, which was equally rewarding to read.

[Faeshifter]

It's a little slow but I have no genre for Lavoren so possibly it's a fitting drift. Very descriptive without being tangental (tangential?), something I have difficulty with in my own stuff. Intriguing but the pace removes the energy from my interest. That's possibly more telling about me than you tho.

[EGabriellS]

This was very good. I enjoyed it. :) very well written.

[RM Americano]

I'm a little confused by this. You began by charging that winter and summer were far away and extreme, but finish by painting autumn as a vivid salute to individuality, a quality unpeered. Autumn then is not more moderate but more extreme, as you say, "most melancholy and introspective"

It is well written and well thought out but I felt compelled to post a centrist response. There is a balance in nature, but are spring and fall the arms of the scale, or tips of the cross?

[Cam]

Good concept, sort of how some authors will use the outside conditions to shift the characters moods.

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

What a delightful read. I have never thought of it this way. Brilliant!