Morning light, evening light, the trees are caressed from east to west, but the leaves are now tired. All this summer blush eventually turned into gold, emerald, simple terracotta.
Autumn inspires me more than anything else; it is a kaleidoscope and a fragrant season. It seems to me that, if I had to choose between heaven and purgatory, I would go and live in the latter if it were all autumn, fog, pearly and sighing leaves.
Between the horizontal lights of the morning and dusk, my hours were vertical and without horizon. I went out at noon to get some food, noon that still belongs to summer while the extremities of the day, like its night, almost already belong to winter. It would take a little wind from the north to completely freeze the vegetation.
But the sun, while tangent, will continue its slow temporal work and the moon, on cold evenings, will be all the more beautiful. There is peace only in the silence of this observation for lack of being able to know the true season of my existence.