Whenever it’s winter, it’s hard to imagine summer and whenever it’s summer, it’s hard to imagine winter.
Whenever it’s spring, it’s hard to tell whether winter is ending, or summer is just beginning.
Whenever it’s autumn, it’s hard to tell whether summer is ending, or winter is just beginning.
We cling to dates on the calendar and natural signs, like the first Swallow arriving, or the last Cuckoo leaving, to mark the passing of the seasons.
Looking at these sunstar seedheads reminds me of the year to come. And that, today, on a dull day, is a wonderful thing.