After the storms, the sky is clear. The sun increasingly lower at its zenith. Gradually, sublimely, we drift into the autumn season. The season of change, of colour. The season of pressing the grapes for this year’s wine, which may not be as good as usual in this region, for various reasons.
Soon walking old Cayden in the morning, we’ll surprise proudly newly feathered, beautifully coloured pheasants squawking as they noisily flap off. We may vaguely see deer and wild boar through the morning haze. The temperatures will be chilly, but the air exhilarating.
The seasons, each one assured by the gradual, increasing, then decreasing tilt of the Earth as it revolves around the sun.
A universal phenomenon naturally beyond humanity’s control. The creator of Earth’s seasons so necessary for the cycle of life, of vegetation, forestry, and of everything vital
The magical season that reassures, and always evokes nostalgia. The season I love the most.
Text and image © Mirino. September, 2024
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