This following reverie is about the autumn aesthetic. Imagine yourself as the ‘I’ in the story.
Autumn leaves hang loosely from the branches, suspended in their glory one last time, they are barely hanging on. Some leaves fall before some others and some still haven’t changed their colour.
Autumn leaves that fall and take away the past, summer’s gentle kisses. And when they fall, they fall with grace, they take a bow and gently drop to the ground.
I watch this movement and think about the past. If I am the tree then I too can shed my past this easily.
It is that time of autumn where everything is still bright, all the leaves are not orange but we can see the emerald leaves bleeding their colour so tangerine orange can take its place.
I walk down a narrow path, trees line the twists and turns of the road, the autumn sun is blazing and pouring down golden sunshine. but there is no heat only warmth.
I walk down this path and then I find a small bridge just above still water. Autumn leaves have found a spot to lay still on this bridge, I step on them to step on the past and with it to listen to the crunching sound beneath my feet.
I lean on the bridge to see the water, the water is gentle, soft and quiet, every now and then the water murmurs a little bit.
On the surface of this water, there are millions of autumnal reflections, impressions of a season.
Birds come and go, but their incessant music does not fade, There is stillness in this scenery and yet so much change. And to think that we believe that things don’t change, but they do and they do so with grace in autumn. There is a sweetness in the air, it smells like cinnamon and tastes like marmalade. Change can be sweet.
This is the time where everything is becoming monochromatic, soon all of these leaves will be orange and blend in with autumnal sunsets. It will be a burst of colour entering our dull eyes. Things can be so divine even if for just a little while.
I can only hope that this eternal beauty shall not fade from my mind.
As the wee hours of the afternoon pass, the sun starts to fade and those birds stop singing too, now it is time for the crickets to sing, I spend the twilight making my way back. I will keep with me the colour of the autumn leaves. The colour of change.