Her Name Was Summer

A Greek-myth-like composition of mine that I wrote on a day when I was feeling Summer big time.

 

She was beautiful; a walking work of art. She treaded along hidden pathways and soothed cool days of spring with her warm touch. A gracious breeze blew about her, the trees sprouting leaves of green as she brushed her hands over each fragile bud. Her bare feet softened the ground and her flowing blond locks tempted a hot sun to shine once more. She was fair tempered, as were many of her days.

When she grew weary of the blazing sun, she veiled her bright, shining hair and the sun retreated into its cloudy den. She would weep for the day she would die, and rain would fall speedily to the ground amidst bolts of flashing light from her eyes and rumbles of thunder from her mourning soul. When she was soothed once more, she would reveal her luminous hair and the sun would be coaxed out to greet her once more. She would smile in his direction into skies of bright blue. She would remember then that her days would soon come to a close.

 Each day that was her own she would grace the paths of the world, caring for each leaf, sprig and flower as if children of her own. She made her days stretch so they could be enjoyed, and each dawn and dusk were a beautiful sight to see. She played gracefully even in the moonlight and gave her warm, romantic nights a bright starry canopy to lie beneath in awe.

Soon however, her magical charm began to fade, and she realized it was her time. Her warmth slowly faded away and her caring touch could no longer be felt by the living creatures of the world. The leaves began to lose their deep green color and the breeze became sharp and chilled without the help of her aura to keep it warm. 

She mourned day after day as her time drew nearer, bringing gloomy skies and consistent rain. Finally, as a chilly wind blew through her veil, she proceeded to lie down in the path, leaves collecting around her now pale body. Her breath became sharp as she felt herself dying. Her days had come to an end. She looked up into the sky as the slight wind blew her veil away from her barely shining hair. She looked to the sun and he poked his foggy form out from the clouds and smiled weakly in goodbye. He receded back into the gray canopy and she closed her eyes, a final warm breath escaping her lips. The trees shivered and bowed as the leaves covered her body in the barren pathway. The sharp, cold wind blew once more and rustled the pile of leaves away, her form no longer visible.

She mourned her death, but she celebrates her life, as well. She returns to thaw the frozen and revive the dead. The giver of life can never truly die, only ride a cool breeze to some distant place until that breeze blows through again. 

Reviews

[T. F. Rice]

Kadie:

I liked this piece, but it didnt make the winning spot in "The Other Herald's Summer Writing Contest". This was the last cut. See my previous review, though, re: our interest! :-)

Thanks for your patience. We had tons and tons of submissions for this contest, and we read/considered every one.

Please feel free to submit in the future, to our contests on Writerscafe.org, or by email to [email protected]. If you submit there, please do so as text in the email, and include basic information, i.e. name as you wish it to appear if published, short bio, and mailing address (for free copies, which are payment in every case).

TOH is a monthly publication of literary works, writing contests, submissions opportunities, columns, articles of interest to writers, and much more. Check us out any time on www.tfrice.etsy.com where there are some back issues available (to buy, or to look at anyways).

Most of all, be encouraged to "write on" and know your submission was appreciated much.

Kind regards,
T F Rice
Editor of THE OTHER HERALD

[T. F. Rice]

Kadie, I like this a lot! Would you consider having it published in a summer issue of The Other Herald? (Heralding the art of words in Western NY and beyond...) a monthly literary publication. See www.tfrice.etsy.com for sample back issues, to see what TOH is all about. If you are interested, email this piece and a short bio, your name as you wish it to appear in print, and your mailing address (for your free copies of the issue you appear in). Cheers~~ hope to hear from you! TFRice, Editor of TOH [email protected]

PS I dont have any changes to suggest. Of course, if you see a change, you can include it when you email story to me. Write lots!

[Gandré]

This is an ultimate portrait, with the added fascination of your almost lyrical poetry, mmh, fantastic.

[Melissa Kliemann]

Wow. I really, really like this. I'm pagan and it reminds me of the stories of some of the gods and goddesses. I can see it being something like a Native American tale to explain the seasons. Very cute, very creative. I usually like to give suggestions with my reviews, but I really can't think of anything to say. You could maybe try extending it somewhat, but I actually like its short-ness; that makes it even more like a Greek myth. Hmm.

P.S.--I'm sorry about taking so long with the Summer Stories contest. I just moved and I haven't had the time yet to sit down and read/review stories. I'll hopefully be done soon, though.

[Holly Barratt]

This is great- it does read like it's been influenced by Greek Myth. It reminded me a little of the transformation of Daphne intro a tree as written by Ovid. There are so many senuous, beautiful little details- and a real engagement with nature throughout. But like Steven said, I think maybe you could be even more effective by leaving the revelation of the allegory towards the end- so we begin by thinking you're just describing a girl with a beautiful, summery-ness about her, and the threat of early death hanging over her (I love the way you draw attention to the brevity of beauty here by the way!) and end realising (or maybe not realising, but just suspecting) that she is the spirit of summer itself. Also I'd love to see you do the same thing with the other seasons!

[Steven Szepietowski]

Very allegorical. I can't help but feel that you almost make a point to let us know what that is, and for me, I'd like to see something just a little more mysterious. Maybe remove some of those elements that might refer to time or being. I think we will still know what it is that we are reading, but if you take just a little from us, we'll come to the end, and turn our heads, saying, "Oh, so she IS summer, that's cool." And this is cool, it's sensual gorgeous writing for sure. I guess I just see that you could add more, by telling less. Does that make any sense?