Dead leaves swarmed as machiavellian cabal, fervent in the first foment of winter. As eager accomplice wind was sangfroid, patient, observing, selecting the time most sublime to savour a spot of obloquy. What a delicious coup! What sweet cultural sedition! Encipher true order, subvert expectations, observe a state of meticulous alertness! Between leaves, wind and chill it was impossible to explain the instinct all betook for caution. For time out of mind not a soul could recall a case of late fall so sinister.
Summer arrives as a carnival parade, as the flamboyant sister who takes centre stage, showering kisses upon her more reserved sister-spring.
Springtime comes as a music to the soul, as a lullaby to rock winter into her seasonal bed chamber.
Even as the winter sun readies for her time over the frozen land, the autumn bequeathes a garland of confetti, a gift of seasons past and a promise of seasons to come.
Even as summertime nods her sleepy head, the autumnal blooms come to sweeten her dreams.
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