
Amidst the red and yellow leaves, a freshly bloomed rose and a rosebud stand out. Call me old-fashioned, but it feels wrong. Roses belong to summer.
Someone ought to have a word.
When the sun is setting, between dusk and darkness, there is a moment when the light turns blue. And the world stops for a heartbeat.

Amidst the red and yellow leaves, a freshly bloomed rose and a rosebud stand out. Call me old-fashioned, but it feels wrong. Roses belong to summer.
Someone ought to have a word.