The garden gate swung open as Spring arrived. Breezing in on sweet billows of lilac, she made her way to the fruit display and chose a red berry.

The band struck up a lively tune, perhaps for Autumn, as she performed a quick-step across the dance floor. Her copper hair blended into her red gown as she threw her head back and laughed gaily. Everyone smiled, basking in her beauty.

At the gate, Winter, in her silver finery, greeted the guests with a sweeping, encompassing wave.
"Leave the gate open darling," she called over her shoulder, "Summer is always late!"