That night, Lena tucked Maya into bed. Outside, the first real snow began to fall, covering the dying grass, the bare branches, the last forgotten pumpkin.
Maya tilted her head. “Then what do they listen to?” months for the seasons
Lena had never understood why the calendar argued with the world outside her window. That night, Lena tucked Maya into bed
“Feel that?” Lena asked.
“The seasons,” Lena said, pointing at the calendar. “They don’t listen to the months.” Lena tucked Maya into bed. Outside
“See?” Lena smiled. “Winter’s early this year.”