Winter. Spring. Summer. Fall.
The air, full of frost, slowly turns to dew. The sun, ever so steadily extending her rays, touches creation with warm, yellow, sunshine.
Leaves grasp and embrace all the cheery glow they can, knowing that soon the time will come.
Green, yellow, orange, red, brown.
Crisp, quiet air touches creation, blowing through trees, filling up lungs. Only the melodic meeting of the leaves with the ground below, one by one, penetrates the sweet stillness and rest.
The Master, holding my times in His hand, perfectly orchestrates the seasons throughout eternity.