the sisters of the turning

in the forest behind the castle

the snow had begun its surrender.

water slid from branches in quiet drops,

the earth soft beneath my boots.

winter was still present,

but losing its argument.

i walked without guards today.

no banners.

no crown.

just a man and the path.

deeper into the trees

the air carried voices.

not birds.

not wind.

voices.

three of them.

sharp at first—

like sisters who had been arguing long before i arrived.

i stepped through the last row of birch

and saw them standing in a clearing.

three women.

yet something in the forest itself

seemed to bend around them.

the first stood beside a fallen tree,

hands stained with soil and sap.

“everything begins again,” she insisted,

kicking the snow from a small green shoot pushing through the earth.

“winter was necessary.

now life must rise.”

the second stood between them,

calm as still water.

“not so fast,” she said.

“what survives must be preserved.

too much change breaks the world.”

the third only laughed.

she sat on a blackened stump

tracing lines in the thawing mud with a stick.

“you both cling too tightly,” she said.

“some things must burn before anything worth keeping can exist.”

creation.

preservation.

destruction.

three sisters.

the forest felt older around them.

none of them noticed me at first.

then the one in the middle turned.

her eyes studied me

like she had been expecting someone to arrive.

“well,” she said softly.

“winter’s guest has come walking.”

the other two turned.

the first smiled.

“ah.

the king who survived the cold.”

the third tilted her head.

“or the man who destroyed enough of himself

to outlive it.”

their words landed quietly.

like they already knew the answer.

i said nothing.

sometimes the forest speaks first.

the sister standing between them folded her arms.

“tell us something,” she said.

“which do you believe the world needs most?”

she gestured toward her sisters.

“creation?”

“preservation?”

“or destruction?”

the wind moved through the branches.

water dripped slowly from melting snow.

i looked at the ground beneath my feet.

soft soil.

new roots stirring.

old leaves rotting into earth.

all of it happening at once.

so i answered simply.

“spring.”

for the first time

all three sisters went silent.

then the one on the blackened stump laughed.

not cruelly.

just knowingly.

“good,” she said.

“he understands the turning.”

the first sister knelt beside the green shoot again.

the second watched the trees sway.

and somewhere deeper in the forest

a bird began its first song of the season.

winter had not disappeared.

but it no longer ruled.

and the forest

had begun its revolution.

— Mr. Mak