“’Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone.” (-Thomas More)

I'm always grateful that I live where the four seasons are so evident in their grandiose displays. I admit it: I feel positively ebullient watching the first tulips burst up from the cold ground in early spring, and the smell of the lilacs when I come to the front door is intoxicating.

Once summer blossoms forth, with its masses of color and infinite variety, I wander outside every day to see the newest blooms on every flower like an impetuous child.

But as the flowers fade after their fanciful parade through the garden, I don’t dwell so much on their disappearance, as on the anticipation of fall and the different hues that will appear with that season.

Today, I awoke, not to the bird-songs of early spring, but to the sound of cicadas in the air. Soon, we’ll have a new display of golden-rich color to enjoy, and the cool mornings of fall.

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” (-Albert Camus)

"...And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game"

(-Joni Mitchell)