Autumn


Summer is fading fast.
The haze of summer heat is gone, leaving the sky a darker blue.

It’s becoming autumn. The season where the street lights, stop lights, lit up signs seem softer, covered in gauze.
It’s the season of comfortable sweaters, fires in the fireplace. Bright moons and rapidly ascending evenings.
When secrets are carried on the wind and the darkness comes on just that little bit too soon. That season that is blanketed by omens.
Walking down the street, the feeling that you aren’t alone, the feeling that someone is whispering in your air to quick! get inside! It’s the season to lock your doors and wait until spring!

It’s the season where the seeds of fantasy, the seeds of lust and temptation are planted- waiting to be nurtured and obsessed over in winter until they can explode and phase into reality come spring and summer.

It’s the summer of ghosts and spirits. The season where we huddle down to fight the coming cold and the dead are rising to the warmth of the dying leaves on the ground. The yellow leaves that dance and convulse under your feet while walking down empty sidewalks.

It’s the season marked by Halloween, the celebration that blends the two worlds, where coincidence, fear, and magic align like distant stars.

It’s the season where hunger takes over and everything is just not enough. The season where things are to be consumed before the death of winter strikes us.

It’s the long night of the soul. The time where things go wrong, our lives hurt and bleed, are torn apart and havoc is wreaked in our hearts. It’s the beginning of the cycle. The pain and the dread to be healed in the hibernation of winter, only for us to awaken stronger and wiser in spring.

It’s the season to discard reason and give into passion. The world is ripe for the rewriting in autumn. In New York the city lets out a great sigh and opens it arms to your wishes and foolish magic. It urges you to keep trying for a better life, the life you want, knowing full well that, in autumn, dreams are potent and planted awaiting the sun and rain of a New York spring.

The trees grow larger and darker with the sunset in autumn. Their leaves falling like tears, sacrifices to growth and spiritual awakening.

Autumn is magic, the season of shamans and witches. The season to begin a rebirth.

The true season of change.
Change is in the cool breeze, the vastness of the dark blue sky at dusk, the harvest moon.
Most wrap up in scarves and sweaters, hide indoors.
Stand outside in the middle of the night. Listen to the stillness. Everyone holding their breath, and you, you exhale, watching your breath curl like smoke.

Autumn is the season of being truly alive.

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About litbandit

El Bandito Bibliotequa...or something.
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