On the third day of the tour, we left the Bishop for South Lake. Along the way, we found sporadic discolored leaves. Later, the valley on the opposite side began to brighten up. The cottage, on the opposite, added some fairytales to the autumn scenery.
Although I didn't think that watching the red leaves was the only purpose, after the first two days' view of icy snow and greenery, the unexpected sense of autumn, although just a little, which was like a girl half-covered her face with her pipa, surprised me a bit.
Autumn leaves were the last madness of deciduous trees, different from the gentle meditation by evergreen forests. They had their own way of self-cultivation.
I once thought that I would be enthusiastic about photography, but slowly I realized that I was not the case. I want to record every heartfelt moment that belongs to me. The slightly yellow leaves were cigarettes just lighted up, which must be savored carefully. While the most prosperous autumn colors were blazing bonfires at night, dispelling the cold of the world. I had thought I would get tired of large oranges, and I had thought we would never reproduce the momentum, no matter how we shot. But I still could not help being touched by their enthusiasm. No wonder autumn leaves would burn photographers.
Your Name
I was moved to cry when I saw the aspen above the stream. The autumn wind fiddled the musical symbols full of the tree, using the tremolo. The riot of color of autumn leaves trembled slightly, just like their name ---- Aspen
Orange has a high-pitched tune, and dark brown has a deep bass. Green is the fifth chord, while light yellow is a soft overtone. The Recuerdos de la Alhambra dispersed in the air. These little bells hanging on the trees, shaking in the sun, were murmuring a name.
Big up, your name.
Light up, your name.
Call your name gently and gently and gently...
Autumn Leaves
"I SHALL be able to say “amen” to anything whatever that happens to me, even if it means to exist no longer, to disappear after having existed." by Andre Gide.
I read Gide's "Autumn leaves" that summer. Of course, I read many others, too. In the blink of an eye, those days were gone.
Lamenting and sighing, there were countless beautiful poems of Sad Autumn since ancient times, but what I just remembered was saying nothing. "Just let it go!" Gide laughed.
Now the autumn leaves were resting quietly in the ice and snow. I wish I could get rid of those thoughts that I should have been abandoned long ago.
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