Autumn

The trees form a hall of branches above our heads. Just like in a cathedral as mom puts it. She is right, the forest has transformed since we’ve last been here.The forest is a natural cathedral. Old, tired green have replaced the young, fresh one. The ground once soft and dark is now creaking under our steps. The tree barks seem to be covered with the shadow of age. Even the sky is greyer. When did this time pass?
We are exploring the forest, stunned to find that Haslemere is so big. We reach a hill covered by the red light of the melting sun. I gasp the hill looks exactly as Mehedinti. Home isn’t that far after all. On the darkening sky floats a hot air balloon, slowly gliding toward earth.

That Sunday was the last day of summer. True autumn has come for the last two weeks: rain, wind and cold. Each day the same greyish sky hangs on to Haslemere like flu. During the first four days it rained properly: water streaming down hills, forming small rivers beside the pathways. Then it changed. The rain turned into watery
needles, striking from all directions, piercing through the bones, filling you with cold despair.
Sometimes it stops and a deep fog replaces the rain. It invades the town sliding through the streets and gardens enveloping trees and houses.
Sometimes it stops for a couple of hours and you can see the beauties the rain and fog cover:

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You see the trees that seem to be on fire, a fire that cannot be extinguished by water, but only by time.
You see water drops hanging from the laundry line like birds on a line.
You see a puffy pigeon trying to keep warm.
You see a cat on tiptoes, running for an open door.
You see the man walking down the grey road.
You see a kid dressed in a colourful coat jumping from puddle to puddle.
Drip, drip.
The rain has started again.

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