We pass quickly from not-winter to winter here.
The trees, the air, the movement of the clouds all provide warning, but the last traces of fall will vanish from night to morning.
Not all parts of my world are well-prepared for the transition.
On the first winter morning, I search for casualties.
A rosebud, half-opened, forever frozen in place.
The wagon, forgotten in the field, and now mired in frozen mud.
A small butterfly, too late in the transition, its wings become a crystallized work of art.
Change is not easy.
In stories, we see the best moments of those rising to the challenges before them, facing the oncoming cold with determination and understanding.
Seldom do we see those caught out by the wind, futilely trying to understand when the air passed from welcoming to dangerous.
Not all survive those transition points.
But even in those who lose, who pass out of the ongoing cycle, there is a beauty.
The leaves are frozen, unable to withstand the force of winter.
Still they stand, forever reaching towards the sun.
I am a fan of persistence. Even, or especially, in the face of failure.
If you would like to see my other writing on persistence, you can read my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor over here.