My autumn holidays are already no more than the impalpable dust of an atom. The work has resumed its rights, occupies my mind beyond what I would have liked, abandoning writing too much.
I have hardly seen the autumn go by at all. Already having a tendency to be a hermit, the confinement only encourages me to remain wisely in my lair. Luckily I have my neighbors with whom I share meals and some of the evening.
During my rare errands, I gleaned a few photos, a dead leaf, very beautiful in the zenitude of its purpose. As a farewell to autumn, I had promised myself to describe it and philosophize about its fractal beauty and the patient geometry it shares with the universe. Order exists even if it is made of randomness and chaos.
A few days later, another leaf seemed to want to melt into the cement of the pavement. Geometrically as beautiful as the first one, humbly closer to what we all are, veins and blood of passage.
Finally, the ghostly presence of the colors of autumn, at night, illuminated by any light.
I had to write it down, emit photons, thoughts, a breath. To say goodbye like lovers who will no longer speak to each other, and to love the tomorrows that will end up singing better.
This year is not over yet. We keep the hope that our days are numbered and that the next seasons will bring a little normality back into our hours.
Times change, have always changed. We must develop an awareness of it, make a discipline of it, feel the flame in ourselves, this spark that we all are, then also these tyrannical and jovial fires of the universe.
We have to reinvent ourselves or find prayers, devoid of priests and books. Only the breath of our conscience excites the blaze of mysteries.