Seasons change with the scenery, weaving time in a tapestry. Won’t you stop and remember me, at any convenient time. Funny how my memory slips while looking over manuscripts of unpublished rhyme. Drinking my vodka and lime.
Everything is beginning to decay and die. Trees shed their leaves and transform into the remnants of seasons passed. The fallen leaves evolve into brittle and brown heaps of sticky mess, sticking to your shoes as you walk through the streets. The grass loses some of its shimmer, even up here, where it rains almost every day. There’s something tragic about it all. Something not quite right. And yet, it is beautiful.
I was inspired by the color schemes of early winter. Deep reds, dark greens. Nothing is quite as bright as it was only a few, mere weeks ago. Nothing is quite as vivid. The colors, the air, the weather — all make you feel pensive and warm on the inside despite the chill of the outside. And warmth breeds happiness. No matter what form that warmth manifests itself in.
Leaves are brown,
And the sky,
Is a hazy shade of winter.
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