“peering from some high
window; at the gold
of november sunset
(and feeling: that if day
has to become night
this is a beautiful way).”
― e.e. cummings
I wasn't at a high window, when I took the picture, I was on the ground; it wasn't sunset, rather mid-morning; but in the spirit of those lines, you might say that if one season has to become the next, this is a beautiful way to do it.
(I cribbed the Cummings from today's RSL newsletter.)