FOR A SEASON

The office was doing his head in.  James took a walk in the park, choosing the path leading into the woods.  After a while, he stopped and stared into a clearing.  The wind was playing games with the leaves, picking them up, spiralling them and letting them fall.  Somehow the dancing woman seemed part of woods, wind and leaves; they whirled all around her as she spun and pirouetted.  He cleared his throat and she turned.  There was power in her steady gaze.  Her colours were autumn, auburn hair, green eyes, warm complexion.  She wore muted reds and browns.  She smiled.  James looked her up and down, nodded approvingly and said; “What’s your name, love?”

James’ world was one of profits, pensions and portfolios - the people occupying it were image conscious and shallow.  Katy’s conversation was of nature and change.  He did his best to follow it and asked if he could date her.

“For a season,” she said.
Over the following days, he persuaded her into the pub and then into his flat.  She looked beautiful, naked in his bed, but she asked such irritating questions; “Why are you never outside?  Why do you waste your time doing a job you hate?”  He hadn’t thought of these things before.  He’d gone to office, pub and home, existing without living, moving without aim.  Sometimes he wished she’d shut up.  She made him restless.

The nights drew in and the air became bitter.  In the park, he noticed how in tune with her surroundings she was, hair almost white blonde now, like the frost that was still heavy on the ground.  She wore a combination of blues and blacks, her eyes were icy and her pale skin cold.

“You’ve got thinner,” he remarked.
Katy seemed distracted; “Time is running out.”
James agreed; “I’ve only got half hour’s break today.  The wheels of industry keep turnin’.”
“Things shouldn’t stay the same,” she said.
“I don’t know.  I think you and me, we’ve been seein’ each other for a little while, we could keep on seein’ each other; there might be a future.  What do you say?”
She laughed, the sound was brittle, like branches snapping in a storm; “The season’s ending, James.  We will end with it.”
“Enough of this shit!” he snapped, “what’s happened to you anyway?  You look different, not half so pretty.  I don’t like you like this.”
She kissed him with dry lips, her cold, hard hands circled his face and she stared deeply into his eyes; “Remember, time runs away.  It disappears.”
He watched her walk away and shouted after her; “I’m sorry!  Tomorrow, yeah?”
She made no sign that she’d heard.

The next day he called her mobile only to hear a weird crackling over the line.  He walked into the woods, the trees were stripped bare, the clearing empty.  There was no Katy, no dancing leaves, just the cold and lingering frost.  He realised what had happened, sank to his knees on the petrified ground and wept.  Then slowly, he wiped his eyes, got to his feet and returned to the office.