Some time ago someone asked me: “How on earth do you write complete stories about…NOTHING?!”
Well…erhm…lots of fantasy I guess…
That’s to say: usually.
But not today.
Today I intended to write about autumn.
But what can I write…?!
You shouldn’t talk about autumn.
Autumn should be done.
Autumn should be smelt.
The drizzly sweet smell of soggy moss.
The dirty-but-yet-delicious smell of wet, rotting leaves.
The almost tasty odor of leaking, drooly mushrooms
Autumn should be seen.
Magnificent gradients, simply created by leaves, perfectly overflowing from fresh spring green to almost winter brown.
That beautiful soft light, which makes these leaves shine through the trees like early Christmas lights.
Countless mushrooms in shapes that you wouldn’t even imagine.
Some of them looking like candy, as if the candyman discharged its stock in the forest.
And of course, all these creatures, even the ugliest birds look like top models in an autumn decor!
Autumn should be heard
The restless fluttering of leaves and imminent crunching of branches during a storm.
Only to be interrupted by the thud of a pine cone, or a broken branch.
Relieved birdsong, when the autumn storms have dried.
And especially this very silent silence, just before an autumn storm blows away this years fall.
Autumn should be felt
I love all seasons, but autumn has this je ne sais quoi,
Autumn has atmosphere …..