Each New Season Grows From

There Is A Leisure About Walking, No Matter What Pace You Set, That Lets Down The Tension.

Catch A Vista Of Maples In That Long Light And You See Autumn Glowing Through The Leaves.... The Promise Of Gold And Crimson Is There Among The Branches, Though As Yet It Is Achieved On Only A Stray Branch, An Impatient Limb Or An Occasional Small Tree Which Has Not Yet Learned To Time Its Changes.

Summer Ends, And Autumn Comes, And He Who Would Have It Otherwise Would Have High Tide Always And A Full Moon Every Night.

You Fight Dandelions All Weekend, And Late Monday Afternoon There They Are, Pert As All Get Out, In Full And Gorgeous Bloom, Pretty As Can Be, Thriving As Only Dandelions Can In The Face Of Adversity.

No Winter Lasts Forever, No Spring Skips Its Turn. April Is A Promise That May Is Bound To Keep, And We Know It.