The scene swims into view with a lazy sort of speed, forming the image of someone's back yard. There are a few trees spaced out across the lawn, and an old-looking tire swing hangs from one of their tall branches. There's something strange about the picture, though; half of the yard is covered in snow, and the blanket only thickens as flurries drift down from the clouded sky. The other is strewn with a cover of gold, orange, red, and brown leaves, some of which still hang from the trees. The air is chilly on both sides, though the winter-oriented half has a cold that makes your cheeks red, while the other is simply an autumn wind, rattling the cracked leaves that still hang in the trees.

In the middle of everything, where it seemingly parts down the middle, is a rosy-faced girl of sixteen, Violet. She stares around at it all for a minute, looking particularly pleased about something, and then she falls into a snowy pile of leaves that just about draws the line between the seasons.