Autumn is a lovely season. Generously coloured leaves sparkle under the pale rays of the autumn sun, whose soft light accentuates the beauty in things and people. The clear water of the lakes mirrors the lively flocks of migratory birds. It’s time to spend some cosy evenings with friends in front of a glass of fresh cider. Time for bulky books and film festivals. Time to binge on a new series with a cup of tea and a cat or a larger being on the lap. Time for snug sweaters and fall fruits.
And yet, in everything we do in the fall, there is a nearly invisible tissue of melancholia that covers the bright autumn colours and the last days of noisy streets. The feeling of comfort goes hand in hand with the sensation of the quiet before the storm. It’s the body’s preparation for the looming winter winds and viruses and monochromatic wonderlands.
I love autumn. It’s the brainy and spirited season of the year, the time to think clearly and envision some sort of a tender future. Fall melancholia, which dwells in the memories of the bubbly summer, is an inseparable part of thoughts about the future, but also an igniter of new ideas. Cheers to a delightful season!
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