What of a Spring that never was? A pastel season devoid of pastel colors, only full of gray and rain? Such was the Spring this season the Virginia mountains bore witness to, soaked and cold for the most part. The old timers remark how in this place, during Spring, Winter won’t relinquish the seasonal throne with a peaceful transition. The weather changes on a whim. Four distinct Winters can come across the mountains. In this foul year, the mountains bore all of them. The Summer is upon us now, and still Winter fights a dying death, unable to give up the ghost. Though no snow fell upon the mountains, even May held a chill, and the April showers brought no flowers, just more rain. The early morning and late evening often showed the scene, the fog, the “fire.” The “fire on the mountain,” as it were, this late into the smoldering Spring with Summer already knocking on the great doors, ready to take the seasonal throne. An odd time for all involved, save the mountains. They sit in silence, awaiting what comes next without whine, hoping for a nice bright green dressing gown, and the trappings of a seasonal ruler able to finally break the bonds of a long Winter rule.
Copyright © Drew Martin 2024
Drew Martin Writes 