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Rated: E · Prose · Philosophy · #2062667
The four seasons
Autumnal Sun

The old man squinted into the setting sun, the brightness a fading kaleidoscope of colors as it shone through the autumn leaves. He felt a chill as winter sneezed an early breath through the park where he sat alone, watching quietly, wondering where all the years had gone. Although he did so begrudgingly, he had accepted that lifetimes were indeed like seasons, and that he'd never see another Spring.

Riding a small bike, a young boy then peddled past the bench where the seated man just watched and stared. But rather than bitterness, he instead smiled with envy.
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