As one season fades like ombre into another, I always get this same sentimental-nostalgic feeling both for what is left behind and for what is to come. Each season feels perpetual, and perhaps is in some way. As Summer quietly gathers her possessions and makes ready to leave in a blaze of autumn-tinted glory, she leaves a few things behind, a snatch of laughter or a memory of a glorious sunset to keep me warm in Autumn's chill. As Autumn sets up house and throws up her warm-tinted decoration in attempt to ward off the cold, she carefully chooses which possession of hers to leave me with when the time comes. Season layers onto season, and each is gone but never forgotten.