Fall begins to slip through my fingers while Winter muscles its way in, always so impatient. I grasp hold of Fall's rich vibrant cloak but only succeed in dragging it to the floor. Wet muddy and crumpled it lays discarded at my feet. I heave a sigh and look up to find it already replaced by muted tones of brown and grey.
I sit here and mourn my loss a while, already anxious for Fall's next visit . . .
. . . until I notice Jack Frost, Winter's accomplice has been dancing around our yard. My mood lightens and I can't help but smile as I realize that for each thing there is a season.