Autumn is simply a romantic season, a chapter in nature’s story of life and love, of birth and dying. The weather is getting mild, the sun is getting shy, while the clouds is gradually becoming less timid and showering rain is the sign of its accumulating courage. The wind is busy picking the leaves, beginning by brushing passes the cherry trees. Flowers, losing the warm caress of the generous summer light, take it as a cue to enter their next cycle in life, knowing that their time is up, hoping to rekindle in joyce next year. Quite interestingly, some flowers decipher the atmospheric dwindling warmth as their signal to unveil their charms. Like cosmos, soft and swaying after the rain. Like salvia, red and sweet without secret. Autumn is too perfect a story without an antagonist, its own version of a Dr. Lecter. Come to the stage the spider lilies, stiff stem and curly tiara hiding little poison for naive butterflies and ladybugs.