Artwork by Johanna Uribes

The Passion of Maiden Spring
A story taken from the Celtic myth of the seasons.

According to legend, each year at the end of winter, the Holly King (representing winter) does battle with the Oak King (representing summer) for the hand of Maiden Spring. At the end of summer, the process happens again, but in reverse. Possessing no stomach for the violence of battle, I took some poetic liberties.

 As the first snows fall, he emerges from the Holly tree and waits for her to come. When the air turns bitter cold, she arrives. Entering the wood tentatively at first, she is vaguely searching for something or someone. Spotting the Holly King, she runs to his fierce embrace. They walk through the snowy wood together. Keeping a quick pace, she feels almost predatory, like a huntress. 

It is never warm and secure with him, but instead mysteriously exhilarating. She drinks in the cold air deeply. Like an elixir, it fuels her. Suddenly she realizes he is no longer there, but she is not afraid. This is always how their game begins. She starts to run with the pretense of fear.  She feels him closing in, chasing her gently, playfully. She dodges one tree, hiding behind the next. She can’t wait for him to catch her, for it all to begin again. How she has longed for him without even possessing an awareness of it until now.

Slowly she peers out from around the tree and he is there. His mouth is instantly on hers as his hands roam freely over her body. Every cell feels alive with his power. He is not gentle. She does not want him to be. They play on, doing their primal dance, finding each other again until dawn.

As they lay back exhausted, she remembers how much she has missed him. They play fiercely, intently, passionately throughout the cold season. Yet, somehow, he magically keeps her from feeling the cold.  She is constantly on a tingling precipice and never feels the bitter cold winter chill. He is not kind, but has a way of electrifying each moment with such a level of excitement that she does not require kindness.

Far too soon, the winter snows begin to melt. He grows ill. A slow fever plants itself at his core, weakening his spirit. Finally he is too weak even for their games. Their time together has lost its meaning. He never allowed any other connection to form between them, except the games. They were not really even games, more just the excitement of chase and conquest. He leaves her then, alone in the forest. He cannot bear to have her see him in his weakened state.

How lonely she is until one day she notices the trees blossoming again. Their sweet perfume lightens her spirit. That’s when she sees him in the dappled sunlight. So gentle and serene, he feels the warm sunlight as he’s just emerged from the Oak tree. He reaches out and beckons her to sit down next to him. A butterfly lands on his head and they both laugh. She knows him then, remembering. He sees the recognition in her eyes and reaches out to kiss her gently. They enjoy each other’s delights all day in the sun, gently like the playful waters of a brook. After, as they lay back in the sweet grass, the sun warms their satiated bodies. She looks into his eyes, searching. The sweet story they hold is tinged with melancholy. It is then that she understands the cycle; how it has always been and would always continue. She knows this warm bliss will end when she enters the snowy wood again on the designated day. The other one will be waiting for her there and she will once again feel his icy, electrifying power. Yet, after the winds begin to turn once again not so bitter, he will retreat and the trees will blossom. Then Maiden Spring will be allowed to return again to the gentle caresses and replenishing warmth of the Summer Oak King and the arms of the one she loves.