As the seasons shift, the city changes, but not in dramatic flourishes of color or grand gestures. No, the transformation is quieter. Drops of rain streak across the window, blurring the lights outside into a hazy mixture of gold and red, much like the mix of moments we encounter—some bright, others shadowed. The streets, slick from the rain, seem to reflect this balance of light and dark, much like the rhythms of life itself.
Somewhere beyond the droplets, a clock glows faintly, ticking away the minutes of another evening. But through the rain, time feels a little more distant, more abstract. It’s not the romantic beauty of fall leaves that the city is feeling now, but the quiet acceptance of grey skies and wet sidewalks. It’s not sadness or joy—it’s just another evening, a different kind of beauty, where fall subtly takes its place, without fanfare, in the rhythm of urban life.
