I like our quiet lakes and their reviving breeze, where the water’s eyes are always sleepy. You can't imagine his red cheek in winter nights.
I remember when my mother had made a nice hat for him. My mother is so expert in the seasonal souls and she told me that Autumn is a gypsy girl.
I didn't see Autumn, but I am sure that my mother saw her because she described her face precisely.
She told me that Autumn flies between the trees’ branches as a small bird and leaving her veil weaving airily in our souls.
Sometimes I feel that Autumn is a fairy and you may see her stormy tale swimming deeply in our dreams’ water.