Scent wafted in the air, waiting to be sensed by a passerby, he lingered upon the dewy fringes of a pine tree, and sank slowly to the stems of the last few daisies. He climbed up into the sky, airborn by the passing of a trolly, and the disturbance of his flower. Higher Scent rose until he reached the smooth dome of stars that harolded the earliness of the morning. He looked at the stars, he saw that they were not silver as he had always thought, but they were completely colourless to his vision, then he looked down. Down on the earth. Down on the city. Down on the trolly that had dislodged him from his last autumn abode.
He looked down of all on all of this and, from the light of the stars, he saw Colour. she was languid in her movement, slow to appear, slow to be seen. She did not flit from bench to bench, from roof to roof, from hill to hill as she had done in July. No, Colour was very, very weak. Even by the bright light of the northern star, Colour was hardly to be seen. Scent bowed his head, he cupped is hands around his mouth and waited for Sound to assist him in his message.
Sound came. Sound moved through his lungs, up, up, out from his mouth, and out Sound came. Sound travelled to colour with Scent's missive. Scent watched as colour heard sound. "Colour, you are winter". Colour at last showed a little bit of shame in her laziness. Colour blushed. and as Colour blushed, Scent noticed the sun rise, ever so slightly, from the eastern horizon.
Sent looked at the sun. Scent looked at the earth. Scent looked up at the stars that were now beginning to leave their places on the silken dome of the sky. Scent looked back down at the earth, at the city, at the trolly. The trolly came to a stop, and as the trolly stopped Colour burst forth upon it in glorious red flashes. Scent fell from the sky and said to Colour "Colour, winter is good."
