Stepping over the yellow, embracing the undressed trees with thoughts about eternity versus our small world's warm comfort...the fallen leafs build a transcendental light carpet flooding the gloomy day with grace and a feeling of sacrity.
All day to day hectic sinks in this yellow melody of dead leafs, sun rays emerge from below like an enlightment statement, as if earth and sky would have reversed for some time their roles. I've liked this hibernation feeling of autumn since childwood, a time of postponing, of no emergencies, of delightful splurging among pillows with a steamy cup of tea and fluffy slippers, deamed light and enjoyable books.
Phantasmagoric thoughts for a time when paperwalls burst of all kinds of festivals, concerts, special nights of open clubs, museums, pools, and even industries, greedy to disperse our sense of feeling and emotion in thousends of fugacious pieces, never supposed to be consolidated to entireness.
I think of our deads with a burning longing to recover their faces in my vanishing memory, pulling hard pieces of old puzzles together to figure out a smile or a glance, while I step over the yellow leafs further, losing my silhouette in the frozen autumnal silence.