February is the border between winter and spring.
The color of springtime is in the flowers; the color of winter is in the imagination.
The quiet of October is refreshing. The quiet of November, oppressing.
October—the true heart of autumn—the perfect blend of daydream and reality, with amazing weather, a beautiful quiet, and soul-calming breezes which lead the way to the comforting slow-down of the year.
I drifted into a summer nap under the hot shade of July, serenaded by a cicada lullaby to drowsy warm dreams of distant thunder.
