Entering for the first time, we saw a room, big and new, that smelled of newness and spare furniture; its most conspicuous feature was a series of brightly colored tiles covering most of the back wall. These followed no pattern my eyes could make out, but I was fascinated by them: it was as though, even then, my heart knew that art itself resides in the stories we imagine as much or more as any story explicitly told.

Never Look for Fall —

Autumn, dressed as Summer, stormed into his house and ate his good intentions. Half-starving, he staggered off into the woods (where he thought cooler days might be waiting) only to find a painter who told him, “never look for Fall — just create it.”