Long ago in this land, with deserts converged and the rains so uncommon - just as, even when dust goes, the particles of sand are flung about collected perfectly and laid to rest by aridity; a changing of sentinel was at hand, a new face on the land had strung the countenance of harps and begun a song of different days. The seasons in this land watched with analytic eyes as a time of peril approached.
A great trouble was upon the land. A matter of significance had been brought to light regarding the recent behavior of the winter. The winter was forbade to discuss the entrenched position of his heart with the summer, and he was about to do just that. Using the star for direction, the winter collected his thoughts and found the heart of the summer at the confluence of two golden rivers; he approached as she was tending her orchards at full bloom. The summer asked " why is it that you have come, winter? I do not expect one to search me out who is not my innate companion, not at my golden rivers, nor at my heart - and besides, the God of seasons has forbidden it."
The winter was immediately swarmed with passion as he heard the warm tones of the summer's July voice. " It was a dream I had" said the winter. " I have come across the vicissitude to speak the position of my heart. You act as if I bring a pale of anti-love from the wintering to pour over your clover, disrupt your bees, and freeze your honey dew. I seek only kinship - commiseration and friendship!"
Good story, Resteemed.
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Winter often signifies the death process but I guess winter isn't always the enemy. It's not "bad" but rather just different.
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Living in Michigan I get to experience all of the seasons and as much as we complain about it at times, I wouldn't have it any other way. This is a nice bit of prose you have composed. I look forward to reading the next one in a second here as I catch up from the weekend :)