October arrives on the hills like a masterful painter, laying down carpets of gold and red. The fallen leaves, like petals from the sky, settle softly on the ground, a delicate reminder of impermanence. Their passage is gentle, almost whispered, as if nature itself seeks to keep the secret of this quiet transformation. Above, silver clouds roll in waves across the sky, singing a ballad of longing and change, accompanied by the roosters’ songs, who still feel the warmth of love in the air, even though nature signals that this season of affection is nearing its end.
The barometer becomes, in these days, a silent yet unnerving companion. Eyes constantly check its readings, watching with unease each drop, each fluctuation. It’s a subtle warning, for the sun, though still smiling from the heavens, is gradually losing its strength. Its diameter grows smaller, as if retreating, withdrawing from the increasingly fragile sky. And yet, paradoxically, the sky remains surprisingly warm, more reminiscent of May’s hopeful days, those days filled with the promise of new beginnings. But now, under this deceptively gentle sky, the white days flow one after another, ever more restless, ever more fleeting. They carry with them a fascinating duality—the promise of a final burst of light before winter’s inevitable darkness.
Amid this transition, autumn, delayed perhaps by her own beauty, wanders gracefully through the gardens. She wears a royal cloak, filled with chrysanthemums, those late-blooming flowers that open their petals as a final tribute to life. The chrysanthemums, with their dignified bloom under the waning rays of the sun, become the perfect symbol of resilience and beauty in the face of time’s relentless passage. They are silent witnesses to a moment suspended between two worlds—the summer that has gone and the winter that lies ahead.
Autumn, in all her regal splendor, drifts through nature like a marchioness, graceful and commanding, but also nostalgic. It seems as though every corner of the universe gazes at her in awe, captivated by her calm and subtle beauty. It’s as if nature itself has held its breath, pausing to contemplate this grand spectacle. Every falling leaf, every gust of wind feels like a bow of reverence to this lady of time, who makes her entrance and exit from the stage with unmatched elegance.
A moment of magic happens in the garden: a lilac tree, puzzled by this regal presence of autumn, loses its composure. Its leaves turn yellow, as though reflecting the splendor around it, but at the same time, it becomes confused. Its emotion is so profound that, against all natural logic, it blooms again. This is perhaps autumn’s most subtle and enchanting lesson: even in the midst of decline, there is beauty, there is renewal. Even when everything seems to close into an inevitable cycle, life finds a way to surprise, to manifest in a new, unexpected form.
Thus, autumn is not merely a season of decline, but also of quiet surprises, of deep emotions that remind us that everything is fleeting, yet every ending carries with it the promise of a new beginning. This is the delicate melody October sings, as the golden and red carpets cover the hills and the lilac blooms for a second time—an elegant dance of time and eternity.