If winter is death, surely, red-slashed autumn is the wound that brought it. Autumnal years have a sense of foreboding, but experience and wisdom add shades of color. Some may nurse wounds of unfulfilled ambition.

Yet, the peace of white snow-filled peaks is unbeatable. It holds the enlightenment of truth, after peeling off layers of foliage, which gave so much of hope and joy, but withered away. Colors bounce back as reflections on life.

If I had to make a choice, I’d choose winter.

what starts in spring ends

is this a halt or ending

crossovers will tell

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/10/23/first-line-friday-october-23rd-2020/