Long ago, when the seasons were young and had only just made their homes in the
most fertile part of the Ethereal Plane, they looked more alike than they do
now, as young sisters bear a closer resemblance than they will when they grow
into adulthood. They dwelled together and shared all things, playing and
singing in the lush forest.

But as they grew older, though they remained the closest of friends, each of
them found her own things to do, and her own way of doing them; so they each
made a home in one corner of the forest. And each one decorated herself and
her home as she saw fit.

Spring went to the northwest, where she spent her time growing beautiful
flowers shaped like stars, spreading their aroma amongst the young trees that
grew there; and for herself she made clothes of pale green, flowing gowns
perfect for frolicsome dance. Nearby, her sister Winter dwelled in deep
contemplation, shrouded in the crystalline whites of ice and snow which
refracted the light of stars and moon into shimmering brightness. On the other
side, Summer festively decorated herself in lush greens and yellows of a field
ripe with hay, a forest shimmering in a light breeze, and invented intricate
dances and elaborate music to fill her long days. In the southeast, Autumn
kept quietly to herself, spending all her time industriously tending grapes
which she made into fine wines, always trying new recipes; but she dressed
herself only in drab grey, colourless and plain.

One day, Autumn set out west to bring some fruit wine to her friend White Doe,
who dwelled in the standing stones between Autumn's home and Winter's; and as
she approached, she chanced to see the gleaming white of the falling snow at
Winter's home, and she was struck with envy at their elaborate beauty. She
looked down at her own raiments and frowned; but she brushed aside these sour
thoughts, sacrificing her vanity that she might offer cheerful company to her
friend White Doe. They talked, and sipped wine, and danced until late, with
much merriment, and then Autumn returned to her home.

The next day, Autumn travelled north, skipping amongst the trees to bring a
crystal carafe of pale wine to her friend Selene in the silvery twilight near
the warmer part of the forest. As she neared Selene's dwelling, she caught a
glimpse of Summer's home, swelling with dull yellows and rich greens,
everywhere an excess of plenty. Autumn frowned again, glowering dolefully at
her own plain garb, but again she tried to put aside her jealousy and share
only mirth with her friend.

But Selene looked at Autumn with the penetrating gaze which all mothers have,
and knew something was wrong, and made gentle inquiries until finally, all at
once, Autumn unleashed a torrent of envy, a gusty outburst of hurried speech
falling like a bitter squall. "My sisters all are so beautiful with their fine
and colourful garments, and I so drab and plain! Look you how Winter arranges
the most intricate crystals of ice which sing songs of crystal and shine
brightly white. And Summer is so flamboyant in her lush garments full of
colour and life! I expect Spring is just as lovely, is she not?" And while
Selene little wished to add to Autumn's worry, it was impossible to deny it, so
she told Autumn of Spring's pale green, swirling gowns floating in the breeze of
her merry dances.

"Then you should choose a beautiful new look for yourself," Selene added
hurriedly. "What colour would you like? I think you would look lovely in
silver. Such a bright, iridescent sheen," Selene said, her smile waxing with
serene pleasure at the idea. Autumn frowned in thought, considering this
possibility, but Selene did not wait and raised her hands, waving them over
Autumn and adding a silvery glow to her drab grey.

Autumn cried out at once in surprise! "I haven't decided yet! Maybe I don't
want to wear silver!" Selene was aghast, and Autumn felt bad to see her friend
so distressed; so she took on a more conciliatory tone as she continued. "Not
that the silver of Mother Moon isn't beautiful, but maybe I want to be my own
kind of beauty, not just a reflection of someone else's." Selene couldn't
think of any answer to these concerns, so Autumn turned and left, walking
hurriedly to White Doe's home in the standing stones, her brow knitted with
troubled thoughts.

White Doe pranced happily about Autumn, trying to cheer her up, even as Autumn
explained her troubles. Without a word, White Doe nuzzled up against Autumn,
and the whiteness of her shimmering coat rubbed off onto Autumn, mixing with
the silver of Selene's moonglow to form a rich, gleaming gold, pale and
lambent. Autumn looked down at her garments and frowned, again declaring her
desire to find something new and original, some colour uniquely her own; but
even as she did, she was taken by the sheen of burnished gold -- like, yet
entirely unlike Summer's umber gold of tall grass, shining like Winter's
crystal snow under moonlight, yet with a hint of warmth, even of fire.

Torn, she excused herself to return home to her winery. There she spent long
hours pressing wines, considering her golden raiments as she worked, and as
happened so many times before, she spilled some of the wine on herself,
staining part of her gowns in reds and oranges, which she hardly noticed.
Still she pressed grapes and poured wine, tasting each variety carefully as her
thoughts travelled far and wide. Her sisters and their colourful, beautiful
homes. How unlike her sisters she was: industrious, keeping quiet while
yearning to shine, sacrificing of herself for her friends. The gleaming golds
of her gown, and the drab greys below. But she was no more certain when she
finished than she had been when she started.

The next day she called upon her sisters, gathering in the forest's center with
them, hoping to ask them for ideas on how she might adorn herself in colour and
beauty. But before she could speak of this, they all three expressed their
astonishment at her clothing. "Why come you before us in these golds like and
unlike my yellows?" asked Summer. "Where is your plain grey, now shining like
crystal?" asked Winter. "And the reds and oranges so bright like flower
blossoms, are those spilled wine?" cried out Spring, shaking her head sadly.

Together, the sisters chided Autumn, and though they were loving their words
still stung. How Autumn was always spilling wine on herself; how hard she
worked, industrious and self-sacrificing, not mirthful or thoughtful or merry;
on how the plain, drab greys suited her. And as they spoke, Autumn blushed as
brightly as wine, and grew more defiant, more sure, until finally she spoke
clear and certain.

To Spring, she said, "My mirth is not as visible as your blossoms, but I have
mirth in my celebrations of what has been accomplished." To Winter, she said,
"My contemplations not as deep as your drifting thoughts, but I have reflection
in my thoughts of sacrifice for my friends." To Summer, she said, "I may not be
as lush with growth as you, but there is plenitude in my harvest."

And to all her sisters, she said, "I am not like you, as you are not like each
other; and I am like you, as you are like each other. I am not grey and plain,
and I do not need to choose between these colours; they will all be mine,
brilliant reds of wine and fire, and golds of burnished sunlight, and all the
colours in between. For in sacrifice there is joy, as there is in growth and
in thought and in dance. So share my joy with me, as I will henceforth share
it freely with all who gaze upon me!"

And though Autumn blushed bright red to hear herself speak with such force, she
also smiled with such radiant confidence that she beamed sunlight on her
sisters. And all four sisters embraced one another and danced and sang
together, as they had when they were young, celebrating together their
differences, filling the lands with colour. And that is why, even today, the
autumn, orange and gold and red draped around the drab grey of sacrifice, is a
time of celebration.