Another essay by my sis , titled Season.

SEASONS

It was spring, 1973. The season of birth and renewal, where daisies glamour off their bright pink petals in the grassy lawns, where light spring showers penetrated the soft earth, where swallows proudly chirped out their melodious voices to celebrate their new-found roles as young parents.

She skipped her way to town, a smile hung upon her rosy cheeks. Never would she miss the opportunity to visit the CD shop.

He locked the doors and flings the keys, the morning sun tanning upon his freckle-filled face. He was going to the CD shop.

In the shop, they were strangers. And yet they bumped into each other while browsing through the stacks of traditional folk song discs, the gleam in their dark brown pupils sparkling as they reached out spontaneously for a similar piece. He and she withdrew their hands hastily as the tip of their fingers intermingled with the others.

She apologized first, the shade of her cheeks emphasized with each blush. He instinctively fingers-combed his ruffled hair, running them through the mangled knots in a hurry. The awkward silence was loosened by a smirk on his face, and a smile on hers.

They became a pair.

It was summer, 1974. The season of warmth and maturity, where sandy beaches and cool waters seemed like home, where life revolved around the sweet delicacies of sundaes and ice creams. Along with the season, their seed of love nurtured and blossomed into an elegant flower.

She would tiptoe out at the break of dawn into the silence of the morning, careful not to let her delicate footsteps be heard.

He would dress into his casual clothes, stepping out into the comfort of the darkness.

They would meet at the beach, enjoying the breath-taking view of sunrise. Later in the evening, he and she would once again visit the CD shop to pick out their favorite folk songs, a shared earphone connecting the two. The owner of the shop would always welcome them with warm greetings, secretly happy that they found their blessings in his shop a year ago.

It was fall, 1975. The season of peace and forgiveness, where the greenery would shed their evergreen covers in replacement for nut-colored dressings, where the air was windy and comforting.

They were holding hands, softly whispering and chuckling into each others’ ears. He took off his windbreakers and gently placed them on her shivering shoulders, a mild gesture of affection. As though it was planned, he shielded her eyes with the scarf coiling around his neck, and guided her footsteps to a special place he did found. She gradually felt a rush of aroma blowing into her nostrils with every breeze that passed, as if hinting to her about the mystery place.

He finally untied the confinement of her sight, and she slowly opened her eyes to her amazement. The four corners around her were shrouded in different shades of pink, the origin being of the numerous cherry blossom trees. She smiled in utter joy, still in disbelieve. He had fulfilled her childhood wish she did casually passed a remark on 2 years ago.

He was suddenly on his knee, a velvet box with its cover wide open lying on the width of his palm. A diamond ring sparkled as the brightness of the sunrays hit upon it.

Beneath the showers of the cherry blossoms, he had clumsily asked for her hand in marriage.

And beneath the shades of the cherry blossoms, she had shyly nodded her head in agreement.

A smile broke through his freckled face, and he twirled her around in happiness. She beamed at him, unspeakable glee written all over her face. The air around them was suddenly still, as if giving them the momentary privacy of silence.

It was winter, 1975. The season of celebration and reunion, where Jack Frost would paint the windows with snow, where Christmas carols roamed the streets. It was the month of their wedding.

It was initially a season filled with laughter. And yet as though God turned an envious eye towards their joyous occasion, he died in an unfortunate car accident, leaving behind the cruel world and her. She wept for days, until the tears in her eyes seemed to dry up. Her mother in pain of sighting her in this state gave her a word of advice. Winter would be over, and spring would come again, her mother had said. She hung her head in silence, despair taken over her soul.

It was spring, 1976. The exact day when he and she met, she trudged her way to town, a sorrowful smile hung upon her sunken face. She was back at the CD shop, picking out the traditional folk songs they once loved, as if those were the only memories left she had of him.

She suddenly felt something warm beneath her palm as she reached out for a disc. It was a hand. But yet this time, neither withdrew their contact. She trailed her eyes upwards to meet the stranger’s. It was a young gentleman, bearing a similar resemblance to that of him. The stranger grinned, having no hesitation in loosening his grip of her hand. She smiled back in response, an indication of acceptance.

It was as though he was up there giving her his blessing, urging her to continue her life as before, without his company.

The End