Why the Summer Now Fades Into Fall

Long before the birth of the seasons, the sun ruled all in the sky, and the world was aglow year-round with the most flawless, divine light. Not a snowflake or drop of rain dared fall upon the Earth without the great star’s permission.

Therefore, it was of peculiar circumstance when a seraph - a timid, auburn-haired thing named Equiphine - fell down from the moon. During this time, you see, the lunar realm was a place of only wind, dampness, and ice.

"Oh dear," whimpered Equiphine to Mandril, the little macaque monkey she'd pulled along with her straight from the pure wisps of fog, "I'm afraid the sun won't much like that we're here."

Mandril huffed and puffed as he brushed the remnants of sun dust off of his chestnut, fur coat. "Yes, yes, Equiphine, you sure did manage to put us in one grave predicament, didn't you now?" His voice was a high-pitched hoot that echoed out into the still, summer-like air. The Earth's fauna and plant life widened their eyes at the sound, for they'd never heard anything much like it.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" The poor Equiphine mewled. Her tears were of a crisp, crystalline water the Earth had never quite seen before. One of the silvery drops slid down her cheeks and fell onto the soil, causing the warm, arid turf to breathe out a sigh of relief. Petrified, Equiphine quickly pulled her soft, moon-dust-made wings over her head. Oh, how she feared the sun's reaction to her careless mishap. "I'll never forgive myself if this ends badly!" She sobbed.

"Now, now," Mandril consoled her, "there's no reason to fret. Where there's a will, there's always a way!" He unfastened the string from his little mask, which he'd managed to grab at the very last moment whilst being yanked from his cool, wispy home, and allowed it to fall by his side. "My, my, in all my time, I've never witnessed such brightness before." He let out another high-pitched hoot and smiled. He very much liked the way his voice sounded as it filled the empty, quiet air all around them.

"Mandril, please!" Cried Equiphine, "You'll give us up to the sun." She took a nervous glance around, her feathery wings still hovering above her dainty, disquieted head for protection. "There's no saying what he'll do to us if he finds out we're here!"

"You worry too much, my dear Equiphine. Besides, we have to get back to the moon somehow. How do you propose we do that without causing a bit of a disruption?"

Equiphine bowed her head in dismay. "I...I'm not certain," she admitted, "but I was very much hoping there might be another way."

"Oh, come now," coaxed Mandril, "I promise you, it won't be nearly as bad as you believe. Plus, we've already left a bit of a footprint here. Look around you, my dear, the plant life is already aware of your presence."

Equiphine looked up and took notice that the leaves on the trees, once so beautifully viridescent, were beginning to turn a bright, fiery auburn, akin to the strands of her hair. She gasped. "That can't possibly be because of me," she whispered. She then ran her fingertips through her long, cinnamon-hued tendrils, and her heart skipped a beat. It was true, indeed. It simply could not be denied. "Oh, no!" She exclaimed. "No, no, no...it can't be!" She buried her face in her hands and began weeping profusely.

Mandril reached up and put his tiny hand on her forearm. "Now, now, there's no need to fear, dear Equiphine. They're only responding to you, as they are to me. Take a look closer, what else do you see?'

Equiphine looked up, teary-eyed, to observe the animal life. Intuitive by nature, the bears, chipmunks, and frogs were all beginning to seek shelter. The birds, bees, and monarch butterflies were setting in motion, spreading their wings, and preparing to fly far, far away. As Mandril's hoots and howls continued to echo on the breath of the gentle wind, the animal kingdom grew suspicious of what might be coming their way. Why hasn't the sun noticed what's happening? Equiphine wondered.

Then, she realized something. As another pair of silvery tears slid off of her porcelain cheeks, she watched as the winds carried them up into the sky. Way above her, a great, ashen-grey cloud waited for those tears of hers. Desired them. Thirsted for them. Caught them and drank them in. Swirled them around in its stormy, tremendous mass. But, that wasn't all. This great, turbulent cloud - this cloud derived fully from her tears - was also blocking the sun. The world around them had grown darker, filling with shade, shadows, and depth. Equiphine blinked. "He can't see us?" She asked.

Mandril shook his head. "No, my dear."

Equiphine's heart began to flutter, and a gust of her friend's cool, crescendoing breeze swept into her lungs. At ease, she let down her wings and allowed them to flap freely into the open space. As she did, great gusts of wind flew off of them and began to rock the tops of the trees, which were now wondrously carmine and gold in their color.

"Are we bringing the moon to the Earth?" Equiphine asked.

"I don't believe so," replied Mandril, "but one thing is for certain: the moon is now closer to the Earth than it was before."

"We've made it closer," Equiphine clarified. All at once, she was beginning to see the beauty of what was happening.

"It's as if we're an invisible lasso!" Mandril beamed. He jumped up and twirled his little arm around his head playfully, then pretended to throw it over the moon and pull it closer.

Equiphine giggled. She reached her hands into the air and caught a handful of dancing leaves, then crunched them between her fingers. A sprinkle of powdery, cinnamon dust fled back into the peculiar atmosphere - an atmosphere that consisted of argon, nitrogen, and oxygen and was unlike anything she'd ever encountered before.

Together, Equiphine and Mandril watched as the Earth continued to transform before their eyes. All around, a backdrop of steel, grayish-blue now offset the fiery bloom of the trees. The giant, deciduous plants - having shifted from emerald to bright, garnet red - now mimicked Equiphine's weeping by dropping their foliage to the ground.

"Now is a better time than ever," whispered Mandril. He motioned toward the dark, growing cloud in the sky - the cloud that was made of Equiphine's tears and still covered the light of the sun. "Let it rain, dear child. Let there be rain here on Earth."

And, seeing that he was right, Equiphine began to weep - not with sadness or fear this time - but with joy. Her crisp, cool tears fell from her face, causing sheets of rain to cascade down to the Earth from the great, gray cloud up above. As the Earth drank from the sky during the time that should have been summer, thunder and lightning surged throughout the heavens, celebrating a brand new phase of continued rejuvenation for the blue and green planet.

And thus, the first season of fall was brought to the Earth.

It is said that the rain ignited by Equiphine and the wind blown by Mandril were both so loved and appreciated that the flora and fauna begged them to return. And this is why each year - just when the world is on the brink of becoming unbearably dry - Equiphine and Mandril fall from the sky to pull the moon a tiny bit closer.

Of course, we know this phenomenon today as the "Fall Equinox" - the "Equinox" being named after Equiphine, and "Fall" corresponding to their descent from the moon.

During the Fall Equinox, the sun is obstructed for some time from dictating the sky.