For everything we feel
but don’t always know
how to say.

Between four seasons began with a simple noticing: most of what we feel does not arrive with words. It arrives as weather.

So we borrowed the oldest way of paying attention, the seasons. Spring to begin. Summer to celebrate. Autumn to release. Winter to remember. Not calendars, but rooms you can step into when you need them.

And between them, the space with no name: the days when we are no longer who we were and not yet who we are becoming. We think that is where most of life happens. We call it become.

Each haiku here is small on purpose. Three lines are enough to hold a feeling without explaining it away. Some will become prints, postcards and cards, so a quiet feeling can have a place on a shelf, a desk, a windowsill.

— between four seasons