The air blows warm and soft as the swirl of a painter’s brush outside and the dry leaves sink in a slow nocturne. There is a frustrated melancholy floating on the wind in stagnant spirals… Effulgent voluptuous rain smothers the tree tops and the darkness shoves along the street in scandalized puffs. I love you so and I hate you to be away when things are nice. ~ Zelda Fitzgerald to F. Scott Fitzgerald 1931