One season passes to the other and drains the world of color. The transition creates a breathless, formless void where all the greens and reds and yellows and purples wither away to nothing. One shade of gray blends into the next, and all the fine edges of life begin to lose their focus. In the hazy silence I feel just a little more empty, and slightly less alive.
The earth sleeps beneath a lifeless cold; maybe she dreams of spring-time. And when she finally wakes, perhaps I shall find my renewal also.