“Les sanglots longs des violons de l’automne,
Blessent mon cœur d’une langueur monotone.”
Autumn is my favourite season. Autumn is sensorial.
There is the smell of the dead leaves and their fire colours. The smell of the firsts smoke coming from the chimneys, spread in the cold evening air. The knits so soft on our skins. The taste of the hot chocolate, the noise of the dry branches crackling under our feet. The vision of those birds migrating to African countries, and the light at the end of the day, blazing, goldish, eternal.
This is the period for poetry, writting, walking in the woods, drying flowers, making herbariums. The period where nature dies in a incomparable beauty. The wind is blowing, it’s raining, melancoly, apaisement.