Seasons and memories have some kind of a mysterious link. The arrival of a season lets you to either make some new memories of it or reminds you of some old ones. It lets you get deeply lost into them, and at times you rise up floating.
The showers of rainfall wash away the old dust, and the smell of wet soil sows something new in you. A cold winter evening often reminds of a warm affection that must have embraced you as the cold winds were blowing around, and the withered look of winter often describes how Life changed when that warm affection burnt you and your heart one day. The same heart which once blossomed like the season of Spring.
The showers of rainfall wash away the old dust, and the smell of wet soil sows something new in you. A cold winter evening often reminds of a warm affection that must have embraced you as the cold winds were blowing around, and the withered look of winter often describes how Life changed when that warm affection burnt you and your heart one day. The same heart which once blossomed like the season of Spring.
Life is a seasonal affair. It keeps moving ahead, and as it moves , it fills the baskets of the seasons with memories. When we pass by these, the baskets open on their own, unfolding the memories they hold. Sometimes they make us smile and sometimes they make us cry. And at times when we are at the firmament with Life, we have new contents to fill into the basket of the season.
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