Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. – Albert Camus
This was my first time to see autumn. It was lovely. There was a big tree with yellow leaves in the middle of a clearing and I couldn’t help but gather the ones on the ground and toss them in the air again and again.
Autumn seems to me a delicate time of the year. It stands in the middle of two completely different seasons – one warm and vibrant, the other bitterly cold and colorless. There is a tinge of nostalgia, a sense of impermanence. I have never seen spring and someday I hope to; I expect there is a sadness that comes with the fading of colors. But Mother Nature makes such a grand show of setting forests ablaze with reds, yellows, and oranges before blanketing everything in snow that one cannot help but revel in the transition. Fall has one lesson: things change, but they can do so beautifully. And because things are not permanent, we scramble to catch or hold onto moments, however fleeting, and learn to find beauty in a fallen leaf.
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