The Seasons

A short story by Anne Jones

Arnie shuffled out to the veranda, loaded his favourite Vivaldi CD, and settled back into his battered old chair for a relaxing end to a hot summer’s day. The sun was dipping, insects buzzed. From next door, the Browns’ evening barbecue wafted the flavour of ribs and burgers and the murmurings of a family gathering. Arnie’s head drooped as the cadence of Vivaldi’s strings lulled his senses into sleep.

“Grandad, what’s that music?”

Arnie opened his eyes and smiled at four-year-old Ellie. She held out a large white daisy, a peace offering for disturbing his nap.

“It’s Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, sweetheart.” Arnie took the flower and pushed his footstool forward for Ellie.

“What are seasons, Grandad?”

He paused to compose his reply. “Well, they are the way nature helps us move through the year. Just as we move though life. Each season brings something special and if we are smart, we learn what Mother Nature is showing us and go with the flow of it.”

Ellie wasn’t too sure what flow was. She took back her daisy back and twirled it, watching the petals spin, happy to listen to the sound of her grandfather’s deep gruff voice. She looked up at his whiskered face and his pale blue eyes. “What is your favourite season, Grandad?”

Arnie smiled. “My favourite is…… spring. It’s the time when everything bursts into life. Birds are preparing their nests and feeding their babies. It’s a busy time for Mother Nature. Do you remember Mr Fitche’s foal being born? That was in spring. New life and new opportunities, a time of hope. He drifted into his memories and thoughts, and Ellie continued to twirl her flower, his philosophy and musing floating above her, but his voice as ever a comfort and constant in her short life.

“I remember Pixie being born. That was exciting.”

Arnie pulled himself back to the present. “Yes, spring is an exciting time. You are in your springtime. Your life is ahead of you, and you can make it what you want.” The old man sighed. “Make the most of this time, sweetheart.” He looked down at the little girl and smiled. Her life full of promise.

“We are in summer now. The sun spends lots of time with us and we have long days to share fun and laughter. We go to the beach, like we did last week, and dip into the sea. The summer is full of life like Mummy, with exciting ideas for things for you and Noah to do. Mummy and Daddy are in their summertime.”

Ellie sat and considered his words as the music stirred into a crescendo of sound. “Is it a loud time?”

“You could say that, yes. Summer is the time to celebrate your life and follow your dreams. Next comes autumn when the leaves turn orange, bronze and red like your friend Mathilda’s hair.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely colour. I wish I had red hair. Do all the trees go red? How exciting.”

“Some stay green, but autumn is when nature starts to slow down.”

“Like you grandad?”

He laughed. “Yes, but I am into winter now.”

“What’s winter?”

“Remember the snow last year? You and Daddy took the toboggan to Purley’s Hill, and you skidded down it on your bottom.”

Ellie jumped up. “Yes, yes. I loved that. Hurry up winter let’s do that again.”

“You’ll have to wait. We can’t rush the seasons.”

She flopped down disappointed. “Can’t we ask them to come quickly?”

“No, they take their own time.”

“How boring of them.”

“Winter is a time when nature goes to sleep and has a rest. No flowers, no ladybugs, no bees. Even squirrels sleep.”

“Really boring then.”

Arnie laughed. “But when your get old like me there’s something very satisfying about not having to rush about and you can allow yourself to drift off.”

Ellie gave the daisy back to her grandfather and gave him a kiss. “I’ll let you have your nap now.” She skipped away as the soft strings of Vivaldi’s winter soothed Arnie into a light sleep. Relaxed and content in the peace of his own winter.