Rumors said it was supposed to be an early Spring. That's what the groundhog had predicted, people said. Either he had seen his shadow or he hadn't. Could never remember which was an indication of what. No matter what had happened people said Spring was going to come early because of it.
They were wrong.
Spring came the same day every year. Salvador knew better than to trust some overgrown hamster that was terrified of its own shadow. He knew when it was Spring because he felt it in his bones and in his blood. The vernal equinox didn't change just because somebody put a tophat on a gopher and said it had the power to control the changing of the seasons.
No.
The day was the 20th of March, like it was every year. Salvador knew because he had been born on that day. He knew because his mother woke up from a winter's long hibernation on that day. As she did every year. As she had done every year since the dawn of time.
She was the change.
Salvador never celebrated his birthday. He always made sure to be out of the house before dawn, because at dawn is when it happened. When the first rays of the morning sun dragged their warm fingers through the world's forsests, it was time. Driven by instincts beyond his ability to resist, he always made certain he was there to see it happen.
Spring always came as a whisper and a sigh. As dawn approached, he sat huddled on the fringes of the Bone Grove, and he waited, breath held, for it to happen. He could almost see the shimmer of silver mist before it rose. Nine years had come and gone and every year he had seen it, the same.
He held his breath and he waited.
. . . and waited.
The sun rose and he waited.
. . . and waited.
The first bird crowed, wary and uncertain itself, and he waited.
Further and further the sun crept, higher into the sky. Dawn turned to noon, and he waited.
. . . and waited.
When the sun finally set and not the barest glimmer of essence sighed out of the cold earth to indicate his mother's waking, he stopped waiting. Salvador rose from his crouch and exhaled a white mist. It was the first of Spring and it was snowing. Winter wasn't ready to let go of her just yet. That was wrong. It was time. She always woke when it was time.
"What do I do now?" he asked the swirling white silence.
But there was no answer.
________________________
(Part of the Forgetting Fate storyline.)
They were wrong.
Spring came the same day every year. Salvador knew better than to trust some overgrown hamster that was terrified of its own shadow. He knew when it was Spring because he felt it in his bones and in his blood. The vernal equinox didn't change just because somebody put a tophat on a gopher and said it had the power to control the changing of the seasons.
No.
The day was the 20th of March, like it was every year. Salvador knew because he had been born on that day. He knew because his mother woke up from a winter's long hibernation on that day. As she did every year. As she had done every year since the dawn of time.
She was the change.
Salvador never celebrated his birthday. He always made sure to be out of the house before dawn, because at dawn is when it happened. When the first rays of the morning sun dragged their warm fingers through the world's forsests, it was time. Driven by instincts beyond his ability to resist, he always made certain he was there to see it happen.
Spring always came as a whisper and a sigh. As dawn approached, he sat huddled on the fringes of the Bone Grove, and he waited, breath held, for it to happen. He could almost see the shimmer of silver mist before it rose. Nine years had come and gone and every year he had seen it, the same.
He held his breath and he waited.
. . . and waited.
The sun rose and he waited.
. . . and waited.
The first bird crowed, wary and uncertain itself, and he waited.
Further and further the sun crept, higher into the sky. Dawn turned to noon, and he waited.
. . . and waited.
When the sun finally set and not the barest glimmer of essence sighed out of the cold earth to indicate his mother's waking, he stopped waiting. Salvador rose from his crouch and exhaled a white mist. It was the first of Spring and it was snowing. Winter wasn't ready to let go of her just yet. That was wrong. It was time. She always woke when it was time.
"What do I do now?" he asked the swirling white silence.
But there was no answer.
________________________
(Part of the Forgetting Fate storyline.)