Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring.

Or maybe spring is the season of love and fall the season of mad lust. Spring for flirting but fall for the untamed delicious wild thing.

Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.

There is something incredibly nostalgic and significant about the annual cascade of autumn leaves.