A great poet, peruvian Cesar Vallejo wrote once:
"I will die in Paris, on a cloudburst day ,
on a day I can already remember.
I will die in Paris--and I don't step aside--
perhaps on Thursday, as today is Thursday, in Autumn."
Another great poet, argentine Horacio Ferrer, wrote a tango lyric, about a coming future.. he said:
"I'll be reborn in Buenos Aires in another June afternoon
with a tremendous desire to love and to live.
I'll be reborn fatally, it will be the year 3001
and it will be an Autumn Sunday at San Martin square.
Little stray dogs will bark at my shadow,
with my modest baggage I'll arrive from beyond
and kneeling down on my dirty and beautiful Rio de la Plata
I'll knead for me another tireless heart of mud and salt!"
About death.. or about a hopeful future , autumn is always that mix of melancholy, and touching feelings... and I love that season..
A house tinted in red at a corner... a small park with yellow trees at the block behind it.. green pervading the brown trunks... all bursting in few, intense paintbrushes..
Most of you, in spring.. me, in autumn... just let's open our souls .. and allow nature to pervade all our senses..