24 noiembrie 2012

Autumn in Ireland

Life. Autumn is sometimes seen as the end of life. 

It is mostly an extinction of green - Chlorophyll - and the hibernation of nature. It's like it stops. It's like it's dead. I hoped Ireland would be different. Although I remember blooms in spring, I thought that trees here were always green. One by one faded in colours, and then shed all the leafs. I have encountered a cold crowd of empty frames in a draft. 

I long for green - i long for life. I am happy to see green grass here, at least this keeps me hopefull, as does the sincere smile of an infant. The pictures I've shot, they seemed to only portray the decay. 

Autumn. The last trace of summer. of life.

Looking for colour in times of grey is a linger in life itself.

But as the leafs drift away, we have the tendancy to stay. I sometimes wish we could hibernate as well. 
Wake up one spring morning and smell the fresh air cleaned by rains and growth of nature.

 By my surprise, I found a tree that was filled with blooming blossoms, in the middle of November. I know winter does not take over the whole Earth. But maybe we need the seasons to remind us of what comes and goes. Or maybe just to record the passing of time, although we have 'the time' on our computers, watches on our wrists, clocks on our walls.

I always loved every season for it's own particular beauty.

Spring: smell of freshness, jumping in puddles, beauty of falling petals.
Summer: bathing and sunt bathing, green, green, sweat.
Autumn: colours, warm tea, warm clothes.
Winter: snow angels, sleigh, food, family.

This autumn is sad.

Says she, whilst Tchaikovsky takes over the background sound.

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