...we are a swarm of arrogant bees, defying the Malevolent Winds and their Cruel Mistress, dancing between disheveled tree crowns, harvesting the fragrance of the bleeding earth. We are the race of the light-hearted gypsies, gambling with our souls at stake and paying our debts with stardust and stories. We are the Privileged Ones, living the Last Golden Days. When Life shines through the Prism of Autumn it all falls apart into Clarity. Great splashes of Indian Yellow, Scarlet and Burnt Sienna burst out in a splendid color symphony; an impressionistic collage of Hopes, Heartbeats and Dreams. That, along with a few stains of Amber and Lilac, the fingerprints of Careless Lovers; and then the Spectrum is imperforate. And all that remains is to drink in the intoxicating aroma of decay, the moisture and sweetness of the dying leaves; and all that remains is to suck in the last honey drops from the overripe fruits. A final moment of consciousness before all color is drawn down into the spiraling vortex of oblivion and restored into pure white. It is the kind of end that takes you back to the very beginning and the first snowflakes are already on their way…