***
I wake up afraid that I missed it. Somehow autumn seems more important than any other season. Maybe it’s in the falling leaves, or early uncertain dawns, or growing anticipation of Christmas magic. Maybe it’s because I used to love going back to school: buying new notebooks and pens, picking new books in the library and flipping through their pages was something akin to fortune-telling. Good things happen all the time, but in autumn my faith grows stronger.
In autumn I live by simple rules.
I choose the prettiest sidewalk. I always cross the street to be on the side with more fallen leaves, more sunny spots on the ground, more bicycles anchored to the lamp-poles. I slow my steps. I stand still on every other corner. Autumn is change. It goes by so quickly, with a soft rustle of leaves, with gusts of wind, with distant footsteps. I stand and stare and smell and breathe it in and hold it inside for as long as my lungs can hold.I hush. Summer nights are for music and loud laughter. Autumn is a gentle lullaby before a long winter sleep.
I let things happen. Some things die, some things are born, some things change their shape, some change their very essence into something new. I let them go, I let them in. I don’t regret. In autumn my faith is stronger.
Другие статьи в литературном дневнике:
- 26.11.2014. ***
- 25.11.2014. ***
- 24.11.2014. ***
- 23.11.2014. ***
- 22.11.2014. ***
- 21.11.2014. ***
- 20.11.2014. ***
- 12.11.2014. ***
- 10.11.2014. ***
- 09.11.2014. ***
- 07.11.2014. ***
- 06.11.2014. ***
- 05.11.2014. ***
- 04.11.2014. ***
- 01.11.2014. ***
