Much of the book does not seem to be productive to a plot. Instead, passages delight in the imagery that words and thoughts can create, with the playfulness of an effervescent daydream. We experience the happiness found in moments of tangental thought that are shared between two people who - by societal standards - are not supposed to be friends. The author perceptively juxtaposes what matters with what doesn’t matter in sometimes the shortest of sentences - and, in doing so, she helps us to consider the timelessness of human nature. Just as the seasons come full circle, by the end of the book, I wanted to go back round to the beginning to read Autumn again and again.