September smiled, weaving a crown of dried lavender. “And without my beginning, there would be no story at all.”
That night, they walked through the woods, each in turn. September brushed the green leaves into yellow. October set them ablaze with red and orange. November gently tugged them free, letting them spiral down into soft piles on the earth. all the months in fall
October draped an arm around her. “Without your stillness, no one would notice my fire.” September smiled, weaving a crown of dried lavender
“They always blame me for the sadness,” November murmured. they walked through the woods