Vivaldi does it in music - leaving us with a musical picture of each season.
Dominic Rivron (see my blog list) suggested that my window pictures were the equivalent of John Cage's "4 minutes 33 seconds" in which there is silence so that the audience can hear the sounds of the world, so I hope it is not too presumptuous of me to suggest a written account of the four seasons.
Outside most of the leaves have fallen, everywhere is damp and there is a smell of Autumn that you cannot escape from. Each season has it beauties - each its downside.
I thought you might like to read these four word pictures:
Autumn: Crisp leaves lie underfoot; ash keys spiral down; elderberry fruit glows darkly in the hedgerow; meadow grass is thick with gossamer, shining silver in the weak sunlight; the smell of bonfires filters through the senses. There is a smell of decay and dying - yet under the hedge violet leaves are beginning to emerge.
Winter: Bushes are heavy with berries - red haws, orange hips, purple-black sloes;
they shine damply in the morning light. Fieldfares - a thousand - fly in and settle on the branches. By evening the berries are gone and the bushes are bare and black.
A robin sings his shrill song from the topmost bough but the fieldfares have moved on to pastures new.
Spring: A celandine under the hedge; a marsh marigold hiding on the beck side; aconites under the tree in the garden; the first primrose in the wood; a lone daffodil by the side of the lane; pollen on the pussy-willow; hazel catkins shining like lanterns; the sun shining weakly through thin cloud - all yellow - the colour of Spring.
Summer: Hay lies drying in the bottom meadow; a plane drones overhead in the deep blue; bees work the meadow flowers - corn cockle, milkmaids, pimpernel and buttercup; a brown hare watches from the sidelines, his tipped ears alert. The haymakers gather round the blue checked cloth on the warm grass and eat their sandwiches in the warm Summer air.