And so the seasons change. Slowly, but surely. The sun sets a minute or two early. The rays slant a little more to an angle, spilling their warm glow on the black glistening road. The wind blows a bit more sharply. Dusk settles a little more deeply. The night stretches on a while longer into the arms of dawn. The air, like some long forgotten feeling, lingers one more moment into the last season, before gently easing into the next. Poised between what was and what will never be again. And people you have lost come to you a lot more clearly on the horizon of this shift.