Love Grows Where My

Jean stuck his staff through a pumpkin, watching as it split apart, spreading seeds and strings of pumpkin guts across the ground. To a passerby, it could look like a mere casualty of some stray feet, children excited as they ran through the patch in search of the perfect jack o’ lantern, but Jean just wanted to see how it would look. HIs season was a season of decay, of enjoying the elusive moment before life burnt out. To others that may seem morbid, but there was beauty in the display at his feet, even if Jean was the only one to see it. With a flick of his hand, some of the seeds traveled in a line across the field, scattering away from him. A tap of his staff ensured they would take root in the soil, feeding it for the season to come.“That was a perfect pumpkin, you know,” said a voice behind him, a familiar playful lilt to it.--Jean, a fall sprite, meets with Jeremy, a winter sprite, to discuss the coming season