Between autumn's cinnamon light and spring’s galvanic skies, a new season gathers. Formed by human hands, it is capricious at best, invasive at worst. It adheres to no calendar, yet lives in all of us.
The 5th season is a mist-mixed shroud that suspends itself at will. We marinate in its fumes, shake its charcoal soot from our skin, and only understand the power of its shadow once it passes.
Check out the postcard below (click to flip for text):
