The Seasons

They arrive. They disappear.

Some return differently.

The permanent collection is what stays.

The Seasons are everything passing through.

The screened porch in the spring.
The table nobody leaves in the summer.
Scarlet at dusk in the fall.
Champagne and low light in December.

The moments return every year.

The scents never exactly do.

Same house. Different air.

Every seasonal returns slightly transformed.

Familiar enough to remember. Different enough to matter.

Burn slowly.