Disappears.

The consciousness cannot invent anything new. Like a lens captures the light coming from somewhere far away it picks up fragments of impressions, smells, sounds and thoughts - everything already existing. Everything builds on something old. Everything is based on something done before, thought before. The pattern and way of thinking is based on a slightly different, older pattern. Therefore you don't know how to react when you enter a situation where there are no basic patterns. Yet you meet the everyday and everything that's new all the time. You handle it without fully knowing how to. It's not shown though, because everyone knows you can handle everything coming in your way. You shrug your shoulders every time you are asked about it.
"Guess you've just got to do the best you can," you say. You're looking down at the ground and you do a little kick with the thin worn shoes you've used one season too long, I remember you used them last year as well. Right now it doesn't seem like much has changed. But it has. It's just below the surface. I see it in you. You look up with a wry smile and shrug your shoulders again. "Can't do much more than that, really."

For suddenly it's November again and suddenly it's not too long until everyone are gone with the winds.