At 12:51 (my time, of course, but time is such a relative dimension…) it started. It’s the longest day of the years it marks her arrival with great pomp.
At this stage I suppose I should explain who is the person–or the presumed person– I’m speaking of.
It’s Mrs Summer, she has not any first name, of maybe it’s her first name. She’s one of the four seasons. I have always liked imagining seasons like characters.
It’s quite obvious, I realize that, obvious and banal.
Nevertheless here is what I imagine.
Mr Autumn is a handsome country gentleman in his early 50’s or maybe in his late 40’s. You have grasped the principle.
Mr Winter is a man too, he’s a bit older than Mr Autumn, but not as old as you might imagine. He might be more or less 60, tall, and slim, with elegant round glasses lightly framed of gold. He’s an intellectual, but he’s not a highbrow. He’s a genuine intellectual, he owns an incredible number of books, which he keeps not only on shelves, but piled up everywhere in his home. He lives in a slightly austere manor. He likes writing poems.
Miss Spring obviously is a girl, a beautiful, but very vain one. She thinks she has all the rights just because of her great beauty. She’s not unpleasant, but she’s very girlish and not too deep. She’s sentimental and self-conceited.
Bur Mrs Summer is a charming woman in her middle 40’s who cannot accept time passing. She spends hours in beauty parlour and rumours say she visited several plastic surgeons. She speaks a bit too loudly to attract attention, she loves flashy colours and jewels. She thinks nobody realizes that she had a boob job with a good dose of silicone.
I don’t get on well with her. But she comes back every year.