The Country of Hearts

The current time in Wonderland is April Season. The Amusement Park boasts the season of spring, the season of new birth. The Castle of Hearts allowed the sunshine of the season of summer to come through its windows. The Hatter Mansion enjoyed the crisp air of the autumnal season and the Clock Tower presented the beautiful, white, frosty landscape of winter. Welcome to April Season.

The pearly rays of the sun played with the flowers of the patches of earth in the Amusement Park. The air smelled earthy and dry and drooping plants were now boasting of their new found youth. It was coming of age; but yes in the reverse order. Adjourning the plants were their new neighbors, slick, curly, twirling bougainvillea and spring weeds. They almost looked up to the trees that lined the paths of the Amusement Park, wishing to grow as tall someday. They gyrated with the smooth wind, letting their leaves dance to its tune. In the middle of the Amusement Park laid a young woman with light orange tresses. Her name was Amelia V. Christen.

Dots of sunshine dance through the windows of Heart Castle as the smell of honey suckle flies on the wind. Small animals scurry from hedge to hedge, occasionally sprinting up a tree full of forest green leaves that are caressed by the wind. The vast blue sky over the pink and red castle combined with the rolling green hills in the distance. The horses in the stables were being fed fresh hay that had just been threshed. Birds twittered back and forth in a beautiful song. The courtyard was the same, except for the young man that lay in front of the fountain.

A golden brown carpet of leaves crunch underfoot, tree limbs quiver in gusts of wind, shaggy autumnal decrepitude, disheveled beauty in gold and scarlet. Earthy smell of autumn, air that had the first bite of late autumn, beech trees at the height of their autumnal gold, bathed in the yellow warmth of the autumn sun, air fresh but without a chill. The leaves dance on the breeze, dead but still alive in some instances. Copper leaves fall to the ground that is now scattered in a plethora of colors. Gold, orange, red and brown, they all dance and die as the clouds overlap each other, making the sky a gloomy gray. A young girl lay at the steps of Hatter Mansion.

The naked winter trees line the avenue leading to the Clock Tower. Residents’ breath rises in visible puffs to join the clouded sky. There is a freezing chill in the air that brings crispness to the leaves, bejeweled with frost, that crunch underfoot. Rosy cheeked, people who visit here pull woolen hats over the reddened ears and tighten scarves over the blue tinged lips. Teeth chatter. The cold seeps into gloves, numbing fingers until they cease to bend properly. Stiffened and frigid, like the cold winter air.