The Seasons Game

Look here, the referee has tapped
oblivious, cranky old Winter on
its stooped shoulder - time out for a
break. The result, an ill-humoured
shrug, but the calendar of the seasons
cannot be subject to the unaccommodating
temperament of one player intent on
tripping time and the elements in a
backward stumble where the future
dissolves into the past to absorb
the present in that season's grudging
departure. Winter, though, is a
season inured against analysis or
arguments of reason, and the old man
calls a conference to connive with
his team; wind, sleet, snow and ice,
to claim for themselves the prize of
constant dark, cold misery. Finally,
the struggle to surmount the inevitable
results in the referee ordering defiance
out of the field of contention, as she
disciplines her elements and dispatches
the winning team to exert themselves,
transforming winter's remnants to grace.