We don't have control over the seasons; however, we know that they will most assuredly come and go. This is the same certainty that I equate with writing. Writing flows from my very being. I feel it during Spring, when the rain comes tenfold and leave pretty apple blossoms in its wake. I feel it during Summer, when heated transitions of passion ensue. I feel it during Winter, when the snow sprinkles down leaving bitter brisk moments; and I most certainly feel it during Autumn, when cool winds come and turn the once alive plush green leaves and grass into sights of aged brown and stiff...