I...

Wish.

Hope.

Dream.

Dear readers, it is now officially autumn. Autumn means Halloween and leaves in hundreds if shades of goldyelloworangered. There is a certain crispness to the air which makes me shiver in fear and delight. For the coming of autumn means the ending of summer.

This good ol' lazy summer days, where all you did was read and write and capture and breathe in the sweet sunshine smell.

If summer was a scent, it'd smell like roses and lilies and bubbling springs and honey.

Autumn, the season of beginnings and endings, would be crisp, yet warm, filled with the remaining sunlight. There would be a homely, musty tang to it.

Winter would be cool and refreshing, the smell of snow and ice and frost and rain.

And spring would smell crisp, and yet would be warm and soft and gentle, like the youngest strand of lavender.