Greenhouse

October 21, 2024

It was an autumn crisp morning when I padded my way out to my greenhouse. It was still warm enough inside that my heartier plants were, not just surviving, but thriving. It had already been a cold season, which was odd considering the year before had been such a warm one. I usually hummed to myself while I worked, but on this day, there was a chill in the air that was deeper than just the temperature. Something was afoot, I could feel it coming, but didn’t know what it felt like at the time.

I had left the door open, thinking I would be a quick in and out, so I heard them bickering along the edge of the forest. As silently as I could, I crouched behind a large pot that was formerly filled with a lavender plant that I had been trying to get to grow in our humid climate. As you would expect, if you knew me, I let the raging beast, that is my curiosity, get the best of me. I poked my head over the edge of the pot and peered through the crunchy sprouts, long dead in spite of my attention to them for months on end, and there, at the edge of the forest, that is where I saw them, in all their unearthly glory; the Goddesses of the Seasons.

There were two of them standing on the edge of the woods. The first stood a full foot taller than the second and was adorned in gold and copper from head to foot. Her gown looked to be sewn together oak leaves of every color, and trailed behind her into the forest past what I was able to see. Her hair was just as long, I assume, and was the color of sunshine poking through the canopy above. It was woven around a crown of vines, shimmering stones and jaw bones. Around her neck was a delicate necklace of bird skulls, which made my blood chill. The second, the shorter of the two, was as fair as the snow, with lips and cheeks the color of garnets. In the stories I had read, in childhood, of The Goddess of Winter, she always had Snow White hair and ice blue eyes, but only one of those were true. Her eyes were the color of icebergs on the coast of Alaska, but her hair was as dark as night and glittered in the elaborate bun that sat atop her head. I was unable to see her gown, except for when it poked out from under her creamy white cape, but it seemed as though even that was entirely made of polar bear fur. Her crown wasn’t much of a crown at all, but rather a small line or rippling light - the aurora borealis.

Both faces were angry, as they talked to each other under their breath. I strained to hear them speak, but only got every third word or so. “My turn…last year…Flora…Someone is listening.” and that was when I woke up on the floor of my greenhouse, surrounded by a blanket of leaves and the skin of a dear. The door to my greenhouse was closed, and it was about mid-day, judging by the placement of the sun. Most of my friends and family do not believe me when I tell them this story. They tell me that they are the Goddesses with the most discretion, Autumn and Winter are, and that I would be much more likely to see the back of Summer or Spring as they waltz through the forrest on their way through the season, but I know what I saw, and I know that it is real.

You believe me. Don’t you?