On the turning of the seasons; or letting go.

I watch the seasons as they dance onto centre-stage like clockwork, when their names are called. As each hears its melody, it performs with its own light and shadows and palette of colours to embolden, bringing to life its charge. Sometimes a season may linger like a lover’s scent, other time it wipes the slate cleanContinue reading “On the turning of the seasons; or letting go.”