Fall - I strum a gentle melody on my guitar. The comforting notes paint an image in arpeggio amid the shuffling leaves. I see a woman through the cafe window writing carefully amid the bustle.

Winter - The snowflakes in the streetlights tinkle like a spoon tapped against precious glass. Melancholy violins rise together in crescendo as my mind wanders wrapped in blankets.

Spring - Spring comes and we dance amid the mountain grasses. Our flutes weave together and lively drums stir the soul. Our hearts are singing as we prepare for great adventure.

Summer - at night we chant and stamp our boots around the fire. At morn we meander on our ways to the lazy oboe. My feet dangle from a hammock as I read, tickled by violins like sun-bleached grass.

I picture summer as heavy metal.

While I have no prejudice against the people who enjoy it, I don't particularly like the things they enjoy.

Winter I picture as a beautiful symphony by a professional orchestra. Peaceful and quiet and perfect.

Spring is no doubt pop and fall I feel is country. Why, I do not know but it seems to fit, at least to me.