Lila looked out the window. The maple tree in their yard was a blaze of orange and red. The air smelled like woodsmoke. And for the first time, she saw it: not just a period on the calendar, but a slow, glorious performance—a character in its own right.
June smiled and pulled an old, worn novel from her bag. It was a first edition of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe . She opened it to a page and pointed: “Always winter but never Christmas.”
June set down her fork. “Well,” she said slowly, “if you’re writing a newsletter or a business report, ‘winter’ is lowercase. But if you’re writing a poem, or a story where the season is a character—where Winter has a cold hand and a silver tongue—then you can capitalize.” is a season capitalized
And under that, in smaller letters: See exception: poetic personification.
“So,” he whispered, “can I keep ‘Fall’?” Lila looked out the window
“C.S. Lewis capitalized Winter here,” June said. “Because in Narnia, Winter isn’t just a season. It’s a tyrant. A reign of terror. That deserves a capital W.”
The argument smoldered through September. He sent her texts about “Summer Love” and “Winter Dreams.” She corrected them with automated replies: Seasons are lowercased unless personified in poetry. He started a playful list on the fridge: “Reasons to Capitalize Spring (1. Hope. 2. Rebirth. 3. Tom said so.)” She added a footnote: See CMOS 8.36. And for the first time, she saw it:
Yes. But only when it’s this beautiful.