Lead-off it feels like you blew yourself in oblivion, which you can't be reasoning with. While you perceive the fact that all you had was a scarp of season measuring likely to your fist. The season blooms all the way alluring itself as if being a shrine. The beauty becomes a reason to get distracted. Henceforth its the season what it takes to bloom. It blooms it's heart out. And the season passes. The grace fades, the light darkens, the bloom glooms, the colours turns plain and the fragrance becomes meladour. And the reasoning makes sense all at once.