I wait for autumn.
What is there in autumn? It’s depressing. Everything sheds every whit of themselves which once was beautiful. Autumn is nothing but a mourning widow, pallor.
This is how ‘you’ see it. Autumn indeed is colourless just like white admiral but there is still soul inside it. Everything paves way for something new and sheds their older self. It’s beautiful to watch nature do that and learn from it. That widow surely is mourning and with every tear, she cease and desist her pain once and for all. She irradiates her pieces stunningly and let other be enticed by her aura. This is who she is. She is autumn. The change.