For the days a whole season of your life is quietly ending, like the blossoms going over in Ueno, beautiful and already leaving.

Deep blue opening to gold, a broad horizon. It rings like a full chord held open and smells of cedar and warm resin.

The turning of a season can be a loss even when it's right. It holds nothing in place — it offers a wide, warm doorway to stand in, where the leaving and the opening can both be felt at once.