In the darkness of the year, nature shines. I struggle in the mornings that seem deeper and darker than last year, in the early morning light of pastel pink and dark blue. The sun is molten gold, turning stones and leaves into honey. The air is fresh but the landscape warms my heart. It’s as if nature knows that we need the memory of the fiery patchwork of fall to warm us through the winter. Maple trees are the showcases of fall. If my eye is drawn to a particularly vibrant display, I can be pretty sure it's a maple, with its blazing sunset palette. Horse chestnuts offer large golden toes covered with rust.
The Linden tree is a thick cloth with dark branches, its leaves become transparent as it turns. And the beech tree is a color that starts from solid green and purple to bright gold. The paths become golden tunnels, filled with dead leaves and brown branches. The ground disappears under a copper crust. To walk in autumn is to follow an uncertain path, hidden by kaleidoscopic trails of leaves. In this season, the old cemetery is a golden place. A pool of gold on a faded green canvas. The rays of sunlight scatter the dead leaves. In the old part of the cemetery, the damaged stone is lowered under the saffron leaves. Fallen signs are also broken among scattered leaves. Some graves are surrounded by ivy, the roots of which resemble green writing that emphasizes the words.
These bodies, which were lying in their shallow chambers, were covered with a cloth, as if the person inside had shed a veil. I came to the grave the day before death. Halloween is a time to honor and invite our ancestors to visit us. I have always loved graves. I don't find them sad or scary. They are peaceful, nature-protected places. It's where my parents' ashes are scattered and where I say goodbye to other people I know. I was suddenly surprised by the number of people lying here. In the same way, they are all my ancestors: not by blood but by place. A community that shaped the country, that shaped me, and that gave birth to people I know and will know. The remaining parts are only footprints, but their energy is in the energy that moves the trees, their head is in the earth on which I walk. I roam the old paths to the sweet song of the eagle. A magpie scolded me from a sycamore branch and followed me to another. A robin goes in and out of the garden.
I have a stone in my pocket which I took out from the beach at the equinox as a sign of half a year. I didn't know what to do with it, but I was drawn to a small moss-covered headstone lying on the ground, forgotten in the dark part of the cemetery. I put the stone on top, leaving some of its light behind. It is always my favorite holiday. Its symbolism has all the complexities of autumn. The old age is gone, all his hopes and dreams are gone. But the new year has not yet begun. On this wet night, the feeling of what is and what could be. It was the beginning of a dark dream, full of unimaginable events. As I walk along the old road, I pass through a kind of history. It is there that many years turn, turning countless books. It is where the finished stories make the visitors happy.
to be a fluid place, of what is and what can be. I don't know if I will be able to express how and why I love autumn so much; and I think that changed over the years as I grew as a person. You touched a lot of my feelings and maybe I should direct people to this post for a better explanation. However, I am confused about the cemetery. I hope to decide one day, but if not, I will be done for! In short, the text of the poem and the pictures are also beautiful. (I have to say, the leaves on one of them remind me of candy corn.)
The light and mist in the air make me think of the thin veil that separates us from our world. knows little. The old burial place of my parents is a well-known place. My grandmother knew many graves and always had a story to tell. When I visit the cemetery, I always walk around and stop at some special graves. They are still there, and I feel like my grandmother is there too. What a wonderful tree. I want to hug them all! And these fall colors: they're so beautiful. This year, I love fall more than ever. This is very annoying because it will lead me to winter.
I don't know why this happened, because it's usually miserable in November. Perhaps this is due to deciding to live day by day, instead of always focusing on the future. I think when the whole world is going crazy, it's better to focus on the beauty of nature and everyday life than politicians!Many of us said "book" when Lucy asked us to say the word we associate with failure. We talk about their beautiful colors on a cool and sunny fall day, how they feel underfoot, how they fall, and their unique fall scent. Despite a certain interest in the idea of leaving summer behind us, we participate in remembering poems, new beginnings in school, college or university, walking in parks, bonfires, outings, the holiday and excitement of the beginning of the football season.
Our recent fall experiences include the joy of seeing a beloved child pick up a book from the sidewalk and stare at it in awe, and the joyous sound of children chirping like birds. Time of mist and sweet birth, best friend of the growing sun I think of September as the beginning of fall, when the new academic year begins. I vividly remember the day before my first day of high school, where I eagerly picked out my new clothes and my school bag with the leather pencil case that my father had made for me.
I started university in Manchester on September 19th, my twin's birthday. I walked to my student house on Platt Lane, from Victoria Park to Hathersage Road, excited and anxious in the cool autumn air, with the sun shining on the beautiful blue sky. Seeing condensation on the car indicates a drop in temperature and a changing climate. It reminded me that my favorite cousin, who worked on his father's farm, hated the fall when the weather changed and the daylight hours shortened, because this made all his work on the farm stronger.
As a child, I remember collecting rose hips for rosehip syrup, blackberries, and autumn apples and pears for crumbles. Beech Feel the cold air and the smell of clay while playing in the field, especially enjoying the beech leaves that change color. Enjoy picking up a pile of dead leaves that are poisonous and poisonous. I still love the sight and smell of fall, lifting up the crisply colored fall leaves, thinking of Nat King Cole singing The Fall Leaves Dawo. Autumn at Beech Road Park, Chorlton
Last fall, I had a magical experience walking down Lime Street in Alexandra Park on a cool day. Linden leaves fell like snow all along the road without being thrown away, making a golden
carpet on the tarmac and grass. It was very moving seeing Nature performing such a beautiful sight.Visiting gardens in Autumn is a real joy for me when the ornamental deciduous trees start to show their leaves often in spectacular style.AutumnWe talk about their beautiful colors on a cool and sunny fall day, how they feel underfoot, how they fall, and their unique fall scent. Despite a certain interest in the idea of leaving summer behind us, we participate in remembering poems, new beginnings in school, college or university, walking in parks, bonfires, outings, the holiday and excitement of the beginning of the football season.
Our recent fall experiences include the joy of seeing a beloved child pick up a book from the sidewalk and stare at it in awe, and the joyous sound of children chirping like birdsI think of September as the beginning of fall, when the new academic year begins. I vividly remember the day before my first day of high school, where I eagerly picked out my new clothes and my school bag with the leather pencil case that my father had made for me.
I started university in Manchester on September 19th, my twin's birthday. I walked to my student house on Platt Lane, from Victoria Park to Hathersage Road, excited and anxious in the cool autumn air, with the sun shining on the beautiful blue sky. Seeing condensation on the car indicates a drop in temperature and a changing climate. It reminded me that my favorite cousin, who worked on her father's farm, hated fall when the weather changed and the daylight hours shortened, because it made all her work on the farm even more difficult.