Summer and Winter walked hand-in-hand away from the Old Town Square. The shock of that communion turned leaves red in the face and sent them jumping from the roofs of arboral skyscrapers. The seasons took no notice of the fallen desperation beneath their feet. Time crossed the Vltava. Summer took her clothes off and waded until the water kissed her thighs. ‘Immersion is better than bridges,’ she called to Winter, and Winter had to agree. She left a bustle of ice in her wake and followed Summer and Time across the river. They climbed the broad white vertebrae of Autumn’s back one by one, the north star dangling from Winter’s neck leading the sun in Summer’s hair. At the top, they giggled, amazed and intimidated by the jutting protrusion of Time’s Arrow. Time had already abandoned it, leaving it frozen — not standing straight, but pointed north. Past the north pole to an Alaskan future. Winter raised an eyebrow and moved towards it. Her frosty fingers stroked the Stalinist metal. ‘We need to keep changing,’ Summer called to her, and Winter had to agree. Turning around, they found themselves in a blizzard of skateboards, writhing in the air around them. The fragile pubescent testosterone and the ollie-grinding snowflakes kept the seasons moving. Winter and Summer continued. In a field below, camels and zebras grazed in a Bohemian fall, and they knew that Time had abandoned them. Summer and Winter froze and pointed north.
Creative Commons love to http://www.flickr.com/photos/pike77/ for the painting!