“Lowercase ‘f’,” she said, circling the offending letter. “Seasons are common nouns, not proper nouns. ‘Fall’ is only capitalized if it’s part of a title or a proper name, like the ‘Fall Formal’ dance.”
“It doesn’t matter what it feels like,” Lila replied, tapping the style guide. “It’s not a person, place, or brand. You wouldn’t capitalize ‘table’ just because you like it.”
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. is a season capitalized
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.”
Tom grinned. He was a graphic designer who believed rules were suggestions. “But Fall feels important,” he said. “The leaves, the crisp air, pumpkin everything. It has a capital-F personality.” “It’s not a person, place, or brand
“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.”
And under that, in smaller letters: See exception: poetic personification. He started a playful list on the fridge:
Lila hated ambiguity. As a copy editor, she lived by the Chicago Manual of Style , and she expected the world to do the same. So when her boyfriend, Tom, handed her a note that read, “Let’s go away this Fall,” she uncapped her red pen before he’d even finished his sentence.