[WordFlower]: 689.ValentineStory.Snowdrops

   Snowdrops: A Valentine’s Day Story
   This is the forest, coming fresh and alive into spring. The grass is green and cotton-gentle, and birds, crying out for the sheer joy of existence, fill the woodland with song. The trees are budding with soft emerald leaves. Flowers are flourishing their latest petals into the sun, soft as silk and burning with the colours of new life…
   …Except here, in this little circle of earth. Here, the grass is brown. Here, winter frost clings to the trees, and petals and leaves lie dead on the ground. Birds do not sing overhead, nor in the trees; no fox kits, deer fawns, or hatchling ducks wander near to this place. Here…
   Here is Winter.
   He’s feeling depressed.
   In one hand Winter grips his Ice Staff, and in the other he clutches a handful of tiny, pearly-white snowdrops – the only flowers he knows of that won’t die as soon as he lays finger on them. He’s hiding behind a large boulder, and feeling rather awkward and embarrassed about the whole situation. He’s supposed to be looking for the one he loves, who dwells in this forest, but he can’t help but feel that his meagre efforts at a Valentine’s Day offering aren’t quite enough.
   He sits back against the boulder and puts his head in his hands, managing to knock himself in the forehead with the Staff without even noticing. Even if he does find her, what could she possibly want with him? He can’t bring her anything of value; anything she could ever desire already belongs to her. Winter has never wept before, but he wishes that he knew how, because right now he very desperately wants to…
   For every spring for all of time, he has watched her from a distance. Spring – always laughing, always lively, always beautiful – is the epitome of all that is good and beautiful in the world. Winter, on the other hand, is the epitome of all that is cold and deadly. He has tried everything, and he cannot imagine what else he can do that will impress the Flower Lady. He has always tried to show his love for her in the forms of exquisitely carved snowflakes, majestic mountains capped in snow, vast fields of ice, forests outlined delicately in frost, and icicles large enough to outstretch a full-grown human, but Spring is not impressed by that kind of thing. She values life, not ice…
   He looks down at the flowers in his hand, small and pitifully inadequate to express how he feels, and sags miserably against his staff. The idea of a Valentine’s Day gift to impress the Lady, which had been picked up from a human who had offered it in exchange for being spared from a blizzard, is starting to lose its sparkle and shine. The human had said that roses and chocolates were standard gifts, but roses always died around Winter, and he didn’t have the faintest idea what chocolates were.
   The human had also said that red, white, and pink were the traditional colours of Valentine’s Day. The white is no problem for him – Winter’s hair and flesh are both as pale as ice – but red and pink? Winter had never gotten along with those colours. They make him feel pale and washed out – which he is, but that doesn’t mean he wants to feel that way.
   He has tried, anyways, but the most he could find was a tattered red-velvet ribbon, which he has tied around the tip of the Ice Staff. He thinks it looks ridiculous and rather pathetic, but he doesn’t know what else to do.
   Winter heaves a deep sigh and casts one last longing look at the forest around him. It might have been worth a shot, he thinks, if only I knew how to aim… He turns away, snowdrops limp in his hand, starts to head home–
   –And comes face to face with Spring.
   Spring seems to be as surprised to see him as he is to see her. She opens her mouth, and he can see the words “What are you doing here?” starting to form on her lips. He freezes, terrified. What should I say? What should I do? Should I just run away? She’ll think me a fool if I do, but I’m Winter and she is Spring. How could her opinion of me get any worse than it must already be?
   He tenses up, ready to bolt, and then her eyes drop to his hand.
For one long moment, Winter can’t remember what he has in his hand. By the time he has panicked enough to hide the snowdrops, she has already seen them. If he knew how to, Winter would blush deep red right now.
   “Are those…flowers?” Spring asks.
Winter stares at her. Spring, with her sky-blue eyes, leaf-green hair, rose-petal complexion, and sunshine smile; Spring, clothed in leaves and vines, with flowers blooming in her hair and butterflies fluttering around her long, willowy limbs; Spring, whom he would happily die for if she would offer him a single smile… He stares at her, in all her beauty, and can’t help but think how frightening she is. The Flower Lady’s presence has paralyzed him, and he is starting to feel flustered and hot. “No,” he says. He can see in her eyes that she knows he’s lying. His hands tremble.
   A smile spreads slowly across her face like dawn shattering the horizon, and Winter tries to keep from melting into a puddle at her feet. Then she glides forward, trailing butterflies, and asks coyly, “Are they for…someone around here?” She circles him, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling, and in an increasing panic he turns to face her, keeping his hand behind his back and the Ice Staff close to his side. He wishes the tattered red ribbon would burst into flame.
   “No!” he quavers desperately, picturing in his mind the sad little snowdrops. What will the Flower Lady do to him, he wonders, when she realizes how pathetic he is at love offerings?
   His momentary distraction is all Spring needs to leap around him and snatch quickly at his hand. Her fingers are enticingly war on his, and he pulls away quickly. What must she think, he shudders to imagine, about how cold I am? …And then he sees the snowdrops in her hand. They seem even more sad in her grasp, surrounded by blooms more beautiful and vibrant than the tiny little snowdrops could ever dream of being, and Winter feels horribly ashamed. Spring’s expression has gone from a stunning smile to blank shock. He shakes where he stands, unable to move, an apology attempting to fight its way up his throat.
   Spring raises her gaze to meet his, and Winter can see tears in her eyes. He wishes fervently that he could burst into flame and vanish forever for having caused her such pain – until he sees her smile. It’s a wide smile, brightening her entire face, and for a bare instant Winter is certain the sun is shining brighter, as if smiling along with her. “No one has ever,” she says softly, “given me such beautiful flowers.”
   Winter’s mind goes blank, and for one treacherous instant he wonders if the Flower Lady has taken complete leave of her senses, but as he watches she kneels down and touches the flowers’ stems to the earth. In an explosion of sudden movement, the flower petals spread wide, as white as snow, and brilliant green flows into the stems and leaves. A short shower of warm spring rain patters down onto the grass and trees, and suddenly everything is flowing with colour and vitality, and Winter has never seen anything so beautiful in his life–
   Spring stands up and looks at him, and he feels he must speak. “But why,” he asks, bewildered, as she steps closer, “why do you love those flowers, when you can grow more beautiful blooms by the thousands?
   Spring smiles at him with her earth-shaking smile, and slips her arms around his neck. She is so very close, and so very warm… “The most beautiful flowers in the world,” she whispers against his cheek, “are those that grow strong out of desolation…”
   Spring kisses him, and as burning hot as he has been feeling, it is nothing compared to the warmth that spreads through him now. Winter smiles against her lips, and at their feet the snowdrops grow.
   ---
   This is the forest, coming fresh and alive into spring. These trees are budding with soft emerald leaves, and into the sun these flowers are flourishing their latest petals, soft as silk and burning with the colours of new life. And, in the shade of the trees where one last snowdrift has yet to melt into spring, the snowdrops stand tall, drawn out by spring’s warmth and made strong by winter’s chill.
   This is love.
   ---
   End
   ---
A/N: I know Valentine's Day is long past...but who cares?