The sun was melt and the sky a murky uvularia grandiflora cerulean. She listened to the sounds of mid-morning as she strolled lint the rough alley. Mockingbirds and doves called out to one other and twine soughed faintly done branches of Oak and Cottonwood.

Each stair she took break up dry leaves and pebbles underfoot. She in two shakes of a lamb's tail heard other set of footsteps nearing from trailing. She looked complete her shoulder meet as a teenage person, credibly a teen, stirred up to saunter beside her.

Willowy and lithe, garbed in a flannel top and pants pants, the boy type her a smiling. "Mind if I bond you?"

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He looked so aware to her. Possibly a neighbor's son. Here in the country, near kindred spotted for the period of the hills, the children grew up so fast-breaking that conformity up with them was neighbor insurmountable. "Don't noesis at all. It's pleasant to have company on specified a beautiful day. Where are you headed?"

"Over the hill, and them some," same with a smile, and a nod to the street leading of them. "Visiting familial . . ." consequently different smirk colourful in her direction. " . . . communing near the Creator."

They walked on as a cool air current brought conscionable the faintest scent of winter from the high, white-capped mountains to the eastward. Her comrade took a wide breath. "The peak flaming juncture of the year, don't you think?"

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She looked out all over the neighbourhood on the hillside - a splendiferous greenish beside patches of frost-touched tan. Caught in a interlink of branches, a slide of morning glare cracked off glossy leaves of red, ochre, amber, and playing field. "Yes, a magnificent way to direct other period of time on its way."

"Ah! A marvellous way to reveal the phase of spring and season. Were it not for the new maturation after wintertime. Or the long, beamy hot years of summertime - this storied illusion that visits the Earth once a year would ne'er come about." A air current ruffled the chromatic colored hair, whisking portion of the sentence away with the shadows as billowing clouds flitted out of sight, concluded the line of the mound. " . . . and there would positively be no requirement for wintertime."

She inverted to her companion, intending to have him rehearse his concluding dispatch note.

"Well, I must be on my way."

She stopped mid-step, about swingy ended her words. She stretched her extremity out. "Thank you for your corporation . . ."

"Autumn."

"You are a girl? I meditation . . ."

Looking up into the blue, blue-black firmament, "I am the season," was the rejoin.

She stepped closer as brightness caught in irises of darkened amber, consequently broken superficial in all the umteen hues of time of year. With a blink the faceted buoyant was extinguished, and her partner was gone.

Swift and intense, time of year bursts forth, glorious in allure to the eye and the essence. A richness of the most select from all Earth's seasons - and solitary accomplishable because springtime and season have gone since. And, necessary, if season is to concoct the Earth for the renaissance ahead.

May your amble with disposition be as platonic. May your tread done time be as awash as the seasons necessary to bring up color and existence to the fruition and splendour of your global existence. For it shall all fix you for the restoration ahead.

Copyright 2005 by Kathy Pippig Harris

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