Autumn spirits

Living in a big city costs you in many ways. I watch the seasons come and go from the gardens and flower pots around me. I smell jasmin and see the fig tree in the back garden. There is an ancient almond tree that tells me when winter is close and when spring is due but it's always too soon. It think it's the extra heat that has its clock all mixed up.

When I see pictures like this I feel overwhelmed by what I am missing. The whistle of the air travelling around the trees, the rustle of the falling leaves, the colours dancing in front of your eyes and the constant change of the road in front of you as you walk down the path. The smell of moist earth, the inspiration that sneaks in your head when you close your eyes for just a second.

I miss it though I never had it, not really, not like this.

Autumn is full of emotions and memory. It's the underlying sadness that enriches it, the glorious death of beauty. Like a last firework of browns, burgundies, yellows and reds; nature's last breath, whose phoenix-like death will push the wheel of life to spin once again.