Winter comes suddenly to these dry lands, to masses of stones; spring reaches eagerly the vast plains, to tangled branches and to vases hidden at houses like hopes; summer comes with warm following the sun, to asphalt scented crowd of concrete, to morning chill greening at sea coasts and lights fill all shores; however, autumn comes on purpose, slowly, like a slow ageing, wears its colors one by one, swinging its clouds from pillar to post. Each season makes itself felt, but autumn make itself experienced and grieves its brown tones in every part of life..
- Meo