The Autumn Leaves

Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les sou­venirs et les regrets aus­si
Mais mon amour silen­cieux et fidèle
Sourit tou­jours et remer­cie la vie

—Jacques Prévert, Les feuilles mortes

Thumbnail: Autumn leaves

The leaves shuf­fle past on the side­walk, and all I can think about is how, every sin­gle day, the weath­er can be so dif­fer­ent, so unique­ly beau­ti­ful.

An accou­trement, she calls her­self. An intel­li­gent, ener­getic, pas­sion­ate acces­so­ry, what bet­ter bijou? So I wear her on my arm, along with my ribbed sweater and depend­able jeans, while walk­ing along the streets on a com­fort­ably cool after­noon.

The autumn days are ours.

One comment

  1. il y a des moments dans la vie qui nous lessent des impres­sions ina­ten­dues. I’ll always remem­ber that play­ground, that slight­ly windy fall day spent mus­ing over break­fast and walk­ing through the muse­um. Some things imprint them­selves in our minds with­out our know­ing it; The very spot where your lips meet at the cor­ner, the soft flesh of the palm of your hand run­ing along my face, the gen­tle touch of your fin­ger­tips trac­ing my fea­tures, the heat of your breath before our lips meet or even moments such as watch­ing you absorb new infor­ma­tion, or watch­ing your mind and eyes wrap around a pho­to you’d like to take. Some things in life will nev­er look the same because of the imprint you’ve left, i’ll nev­er walk past a play­ground in the fall with­out feel­ing as though i ought to have my hand wraped around some­one’s arm, hold­ing myself close to them as we walk.

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