It is almost fall, isn't it? Those kinds of words don't mean as much as they used to, but fall seems to have stuck. That feeling of heat and fervor fading down into a bleaker thing. Like death but different. The hope of snow sustains you. The present creeping bleakness reminds you of the opposite seasonal pole: thaw. People used to call it spring, but if there ever was a spring, then it's bent and broken by now. Thaw feels more appropriate for how vicious the freeze is. It takes a whole season's time for it to recede.