Summer breathes its final breath as autumn’s romance whispers, “Make way, my love, for I arise, laden with crimson wishes.” Among the trees, an ancient lore initiates a choir, as peaceful slumber covers them, bequeathing songs of silence.
A cold north wind commands a force, displacing deadened leaves, creating wild disturbances and looting withered trees. The rustic, reddish leaves of gold dance wildly through the air, bestowing scarlet blushes to an earth disrobed and bare.
The scent of smouldering firewood ignites nostalgic memories of woven hats and stellar skies, a sentimental treasury. The air becomes encrusted with an ambience of old, where candle flames and twisted tales intensify our homes.
Come, rain or shine we wander to fixate on russet beauties through imagery and fairytales, a nature lover’s duty. Oh, come, rich, ruby artistry, unburden your wild pleasures, ignite my soul with claret dreams and copper-coloured treasures.
© 2016 Amelia Dashwood, All rights reserved.
Featured image by Sarachmet