Spring fell for autumn with the beauty in monochromatic oranges, reds, browns, and how autumn found something beautiful in death and dormant, rather than blooming and being reborn because it’s easy to find life striking but harder to find the sun in all the rain and spring awed at the warmth that autumn made grow from damp leaves and heavy clouds because what is autumn but the coziness of a huge scarf or the sleepiness of dimly lit fairy lights and spring adored autumn, the way she woke up all the dreamers, the writers, and the artists with her early nights and dark mornings and made them feel at home yet again.
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