Autumn has arrived; cold creeps in and sickens us if we do not take cover, if we do not envelop ourselves in warm coats and long scarves. Autumn is my favorite season. The leaves turn orange and yellow, falling from their branches. They crack under our feet when we walk back home after a long day. The sky is gray, it rains, and the wind stings our cheeks, turning them red. I enjoy this season because it’s when I lay in bed with a book and a cup of coffee, forgetting the large amount of work due the next morning; I simply enjoy the warmth of the moment.
It’s the season when I spend a long time trying to find the perfect classical piece to fit my writing, wishing I knew how to play the piano to create those same melodies. It’s the season of candies and spooks, of horror films and Harry Potter marathons.
Then winter will arrive, making everything even more exciting. Plus, time seems to fly; soon it will be November, and from then on, we will only think about one thing: the presents under the Christmas tree.
Autumn also carries a certain melancholy, which I wouldn’t know how to explain further. If you feel it, you might understand.
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