Of the four seasons, autumn is my favorite. May has always been my favorite month, but May is a lightweight, compared to autumn. May...it's a pretty girls' name; it enhances, it's lush, and emerald green. It holds promise...and hope. It's a new beginning, and it's enough. You can just enjoy May being May. You don't have to do anything more than revel in, bask in, and absorb its warm, soothing, emerald essence.
So, then, why autumn? Autumn is tenacious. It clings to the last vestiges of summer, and is perpetually and forcibly wrested away; only to stand alone...for a while. Alone and vulnerable; exposed...for the world to see. Naked, with nowhere to hide, while waiting for that blanket that winter will provide. It's stirring and unnerving; quite the opposite of the promise and hope held by May. There's a feeling of melancholy and introspection; of what could have been, of what was, and of what might never be. An end of sorts...but never do I feel so alive, as in autumn.
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