It was just past sunset; faint purples and reds still stained the otherwise black winter sky, distant memories. I sat, cross-legged on the floor of my cottage, holding my trembling hands in the direction of my fireplace. The flames jumped and crackled, their warmth seeping into my skin. The shadows of the meager furniture in my tiny cottage flickered in the orange firelight. 

I drew my knees to my chest and took a long, slow breath. He was close; I’d felt his presence in the golden rays of the sun poking through the clouds, and in the occasional breeze carrying a gentle brush of warmth over my shoulders. He would arrive in the next few days, I was sure of it.

I stood, pulling my cardigan over my shoulders, and meandered into the kitchen. I stood at the sink and filled a little glass with water, absent-mindedly staring out the window. The fields were still laden with powder-white snow; underneath there, somewhere, was my garden – withered and useless. Much more of this and I wouldn’t have the savings to get food.

A shimmer of light out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. My eyes widened slightly, and I pressed my forehead against the dusty glass of my kitchen window. I gasped; it was him.

My heart thudded like the pounding of a hammer in my chest as I scrambled to put on my slippers and scarf and rush out the door. I stood on my gravel pathway, watching, a smile tugging at my lips. There he was – Spring. He was ethereal – like a cross between a human and the sun. He was a form of pure light, running and dancing in the fields. 

“Hello!” I called out, pure joy brimming in my voice.

Spring paused in his gallivanting to look upon me, a beautiful cluster of purple crocuses pushing up through the snow at his feet. He waved, smiling, before dashing off towards the forest. In his wake, patches of snow melted away, revealing green grass.

I laughed breezily, leaning against the doorframe. Spring had arrived – finally.

Learn more about the author:

Hattie Lyons