It May Be Late But Here's A Bit Of Prose About Autumn

In my writing group that's held once a month we sometimes set ourselves little projects to work on for the next session. We did a project on autumn and we were set either it had to be done in prose or poem form. I decided to go with prose and here it is.


The four sisters take their turn.
The first sister, steps forward, curtsies, but doesn't smile. She's the coldest of the sisters. They call her Winter. Her bright white hair, pale skin and crystal blue eyes, shiver the spine.
‘We can't wait to be rid of her!" shouts one.
‘Bring on Spring!’ another demands.
Ah! Here comes Spring. Baby woodland creatures dance and weave around her as she carries a wicker basket full of freshly cut flowers. Her hair is short, mousy brown, her skin magnolia, her eyes deep hazel. She smiles. A warm glowing smile that takes away the harshness of Winter.
‘Oh I like this one better,’ whispers one.
‘Enough of her already! I want the hot sister!’ pleads another.
Some roll their eyes, others hiss back. It seems some prefer Spring to her younger sister.
So here comes Summer. A barrage of bright colours follows her. The sun her constant lover, the blue, cloudless sky, a keen admirer.
Summer doesn't bow or curtsey to the crowd. Oh no that wouldn't be summer at all! She dances, she sings, she recites poems and long forgotten verses that many admirers have dedicated to her. Summer finally stands still, breathless. Her blonde locks cascade down her shimmering, golden shoulders. Her deep blue eyes, glimmer, entice, enthrall and leave the crowd wanting more of the glamorous sister.
So Winter, Spring and Summer have all come, shown their virtues and bowed out for another year. Who's left? Why some say the beautiful and charismatic of the four sisters.
‘Where is she?’ asks one.
‘Is she late again?’ another grumbles.
‘I don't care is she's early or late. Just as long as I get to see my dear sweet Autumn,' croons another.
Not long after Summer takes to her seat. Winter and Spring begin to fight. Winter started it. Most agree. Winter always starts it. For she's the coldest of the sisters.
'Here is she!' one exclaims.
‘Pipe down,’ scolds another.‘You'll give yourself a heart attack.’
Autumn calmly makes her way centre stage.Everything that has gone before has ebbed away.Autumn has arrived. A mixture of oranges, browns and crisp yellows radiate from her, bringing a sensation of warmth and contentment.
Autumn leisurely begins to dance in circles and the crowd can't take their gaze from her. Autumn's bronze skin and golden eyes mesmerise, her copper striped crimped hair flutters around her like dancing leaves.Autumn begins to hum a soothing melody and the crowd hum along in unison. For their mood has changed. That's why Autumn is the most precious of the four sisters. She brings reflection of what has passed. The crowd is soon happy, joyful and at ease. Autumn finishes her merry dance with our hearts and minds. It's soon time for the troublesome sister to take centre stage once more.
"Not her again," moans one.
"She's not that bad once you get to know her," says another.
"Give me Autumn any day," cheer the rest.