The sun set slowly in the sound of the trumpets, falling like a large orange ball into the sea. The trumpets kept calling as the light subsided, and the people looked out into the open waters from the elevated platform of the market square.

“Today we release our burdens. Cast all your regrets to the winds, don’t let them follow you into the future.”

There weren’t many times when the Hearth was bare, but the Celebration of Harvest was one of them. People were scattered around the city, busy with the preparations, only returning to the Great Hall to bring things for the feast. The Twins, who had far outgrown the need to be watched like children, were often left alone at this time, with only one or two Caretakers to attend to their immediate needs.

It was for this reason that Aifa found herself alone with the Twins the evening before the feast, at the time when day and night again found themselves shifting balance. The air was still sultry, rich with the humidity and fragrances of summer, the harvest season lingered, bringing with it a bounty of grain, apples, squashes and grapes, but the light had already shifted to that hard to describe but immediately recognizable golden mellowness that accompanies the turning of the leaves.

Aifa, her grandmother and the rest of the Caretakers had been working hard all morning, braiding bunches of colorful ribbons into rainbows. The entire Grand Hall of the Hearth was filled with ribbons, whose silky threads seemed to be animated by their own inner spirit and slithered into crevices and recesses, never to be found again.

In the middle of the room, the Twins were getting ready for the ceremony, learning how to properly carry their ceremonial staffs.

“Are those snakes?” Aifa whispered, daunted, as she looked at the elaborate decorations on the staffs, which seemed to depict two snakes swirling around each other, in opposite directions.

“Of course. You don’t remember the story of this holiday?” grandmother asked, surprised.

“Hurry up, granddaughter, we wouldn’t want our guests to find us unprepared,” Aifa’s grandmother commented, more to assuage her own tension than anything else. Everything had been prepared, cleaned, shined to a blinding polish, planned to the last detail. “Today is a big day, you know, the time when the door between life and death is left ajar, so we can rejoice in our departed loved ones’ presence once again.”

“How would I know if they are here, doyenne?” Aifa asked, a little confused.

“Oh, you will know, child. When they arrive, without a doubt, you will know. Where are the sweets?” she asked, worried again, only to notice that the table had been properly set and everything was already on it.

“Knead joyfully, granddaughter, you don’t want that bread to be heavier than a rock,” grandmother teased.

All the Caretakers were gathered at their house to bake together for the Day of Abundance. They had started early in the morning and the aroma of fresh bread, right out of the oven, filled the whole house. Under their diligent hands, the first grains of harvest yielded their goodness, transformed into an elastic and malleable dough that was lighter than air.

Masterful fingers kneaded and shaped it into a million different shapes, crescents, wreaths, boules, baguettes, rolls, and, to the absolute delight of the children, little bread critters.

The middle of July brought with it an abundance of early harvest, but the Caretakers were so busy, they didn’t even notice the buoyant unfolding of life around them. They spent day after day, gathered around the Twins, listening to the wisdom the two poured forth, wisdom whose source nobody really understood, and which, they believed, could only come from on high.

“What about you, doyenne?” Aifa asked. “Haven’t you heard this before?”

“Oh, no, child. No two years’ teachings are ever the same. What would be the point of divine guidance if you could sum it up in one year. The wisdom has no end.”

For the second time that year, the community took their trip down the side of the mountain, down to the sea. It was the middle of June, and it seemed like the whole world was covered in flowers, especially the tall, bright yellow flowers of the meadow, which some still believed were faeries in disguise. There was talk that at night, on the eve of this feast, they could be seen dancing across the fields and meadows, as if stepping on air, ethereal like the breeze itself. When asked about it, people whispered about the terrible fate which befell those who dared spy upon the unearthly creatures during their private dance. For this celebration, however, they lent their flowers eagerly, to make crowns, garlands and wreaths.

“Are you nervous, granddaughter?” grandmother asked.

It was Aifa’s first public speaking assignment, one for which she had prepared the entire week, and she was, of course, all nerves.

“Don’t fret over it, you will do just fine.”

“What if I don’t?” Aifa asked, wretched.

“Then you won’t,” grandmother joked. “I’m sure they’ll let you live.”

“Don’t joke about it, doyenne!” Aifa chided.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” grandmother said, trying very hard to be serious but unable to suppress a smile.