End of the year
When maples cry with scarlet leaves tearing through the skies of especially deep blue, final autumn days are trapped in streaming water carrying them away until the next year.
Cold breath lingering in the air is not ready to fade, let go of hope.
Pine trees gather in circles hiding delicate fingers in clouds and shivering.
Streets are awash with brittle leaves rustling gently under your feet,
whispering to each other in colorful voices...
And the sun looks you straight in the eye like an honest friend
delivering a painful truth.
It must be the time then.
It feels like going to sleep.
It feels like a dream to wake up from only in spring and be surprised
again and again by the timeless circle of life.