The Last Rites of Spring

Greetings, mortals—staying cool, I hope? I journeyed up to Earth for an Eostre ritual, only to suffer mortalkind’s latest invention: SPRING-SUMMER. Why, mortals, would ye create such a monstrosity?

Like Summersbane, I prefer the cold dark of Winter to all other times of year. Spring is a lesser season, but its main positive quality, was that ‘twas not Summer. Now, with temperatures soaring above 100 degrees (by master Fahrenheit’s reckoning), this season’s core identity is melting faster than California’s meagre snow-pack. & not only on the West Coast, nor merely in the scorched Hellscape known as Arizona—this wretched Spring-Summer spans whole continents!

I wrangled a hummingbird into my bubborb, to cast bloom-beams & restore Springness as best we can; but he requires huge amounts of nectar for such work, & tires after only an hour. I think, unfortunately, humming-bubborbs may not work as a global solution.

What was this all for, why was Spring wrecked? Some grand plan? A vision from the future, where nine months of Summer is the only way to avert some worse catastrophe?

Surely, ‘twas not done for money? Was it?

The hummingbird stirs from his slumber; I must find some nectar & return to our labours, before this third day of Spring grows too hot to be outside…

Thank ye for reading! & we humbly thank that growing clan of mortals who can & do support our works here with coin!

I shall write ye come Wednesday with news of our next episode! ’Til then: be safe, be well, & remember, only nine months of Summer left to go…

Cheers,
Amœnus Franco
Wizard, Writer, Spring-Mourner