Autumn is perfect melancholy, when maybe the onlything to do is to find beauty in the everyday sights
Autumn is patience
Autumn is to find the Van Gogh in the bark, the Escher in the train tracks, and the Adams in the foothills
In autumn there may be no meaning to the day or night, but there is beauty everywhere, always
Autumn is destined to turn to winter
The warmth and ease are doomed
In the cold you find purpose
Winter is strength
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
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