WHEN AUTUMN WAS YOUNGER THAN SPRING

Seasons caperings and flights of hay loft fancy were silhouetted upon personal reflection in a girls private memory of the once-long-ago-too-young little Autumn Auburn.

This was a time implicit with newness, which looking back now seems far too far away.

Of course, she was a fledgling then of leaf skips and branch quiverings that drank the forests rich, when boasts against Spring Green, for example, could easily have been believed.

Driving juggled Winter White sons mad was a game as easy as sailing courtship and to new depths of love’s scantily suggestive leafy covered young spark.

Fresh kisses were gotten as simply as gathered seashells, in a time when any reason whatsoever was ample excuse for early season dates.

And, it was a day not so dissimilar to any-one-after-another that Auburn now fondly could recall.

She was twirling in early morning debut, in her near ritual devotion along the wakening forest floor, when she heard some rumbled stirrings coming from above.

“The daytime hums His thoughts,” Said the rooted evergreen Forest Father stooping down low from high on trunk so that only she could hear.

“Whatever do you mean? Who’s and what’s thoughts?” She asked in puzzlement and was genuinely surprised…