9. Falling Leaves by Olga Wisinger-Florian (1899) To walk over richly-coloured leaves strewn on the ground is one of autumn's most distinctive feelings; Wisinger-Florian captures it so perfectly that you can almost hear the leaves rustling, hear footsteps crackling over them. https://t.co/FtQQaNP3Gf
She was kneeling and she was worshipping – and Miss Somerville, made nervous by what was obviously going to be more emotion, said sharply: ‘What’s the matter? They’re just autumn crocus. I put some in a few years ago and they’ve spread.’ ‘Yes, I know. I know they’re autumn crocus.’ She looked up, pushing her hair off her forehead, and it was as Mis
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Just the words I think I prefer. . . . #poetry#fall#death
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FYI: We're leaning into those Autumnal vibes hard, hbu? 📸: @nailsinc @fenwickofficial
instagram.comThere are also the winds of autumn, those that whirl through the streets tearing the dry, ruddy-brown leaves from their moorings.
the blades of grass in the breeze, changing color as they went, from dark to light, like the nap of velvet when you brushed your hand over it; the way the stream of water broke itself into droplets as it splashed against the cup’s rim.
