The seasons do not know us

The seasons do not know us. We are far beneath their majestic existence.

We scurry about, living our self-important little human lives, believing ourselves to be the center of the Universe. But the seasons do not care.

Summer turns, ever so gracefully, into Autumn. The air changes, and so changes the world. Everything in nature braces itself for winter.

We may believe that the seasons belong to us, because we have given them names. But the reality is far stranger and more wonderful.

For the seasons are like gods. The are vast, and they fill the Earth with their beauty.

I don’t know about you, but I am very much enjoying the wondrous sight of impetuous Theros gracefully giving way to the regal reign of Phthinoporon.

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