Change Of | Season Dates

Outside, the world had turned white. Not a line drawn between fall and winter—just snow on red leaves, one season still bleeding into the next, refusing to choose a date. And Marta, for the first time in weeks, poured herself another cup of tea and watched it happen without checking her phone for an official announcement.

The calendar on Marta’s wall had three black X’s through October 14th. That was the day Sam left. She hadn’t moved the marker since. change of season dates

Marta stood up, walked to the shelf, and took down the notebook. She opened it to the last page they’d written on together—March 20th, the spring equinox. Sam’s handwriting: What I’m leaving behind: my fear of quiet mornings. What I hope will grow: patience. Hers: What I’m leaving behind: the need to be right. What I hope will grow: trust. Outside, the world had turned white

What I hope will grow: the courage to stop looking for the day it ended, and start looking for the day I begin again. The calendar on Marta’s wall had three black

She poured the tea and sat by the frosted glass. A text from her sister: You okay? First snow. Feels early this year. Marta typed back: Seasons change on their own schedule. Sent it. Then added: I’m okay. The second part felt less true.

Then, underneath: What I’m leaving behind: the idea that love has an expiration date stamped somewhere, if only I could find it.

But people liked their lines. Their before and after. Their summer ends August 31st and spring begins March 20th . Marta had been the same way. She and Sam had celebrated the equinoxes like holidays—candles lit, a bottle of wine, a shared notebook where they wrote down what they were leaving behind and what they hoped would grow.