Fall

Fall has a way of creating breathable tangible nostalgia. There’s something so golden about the sun during autumn that's lacking the rest of the year. The air is somehow cleaner. Forget the blooming of flowers that shout the end of the storm and the triumphant victory of survival. No, I prefer the colouring of leaves that breaths change and then end of an era full of struggle and growth. Whisper to the wind it is time to wake and it is time to rage. 

 It is full of tender honesty and speaks of rest. It's compiled of the dreams before sleep. And it loves to hug. Connection is made easy knowing the storm is on its way. There is a welcomed warmth of love that had been dusted off and put on the mantle for all to see. It doesn’t lie and it is no time for regrets, only a continued journey. There is always another chapter, another tranquil moment waiting to be witnesses and not simple passed over. Wait and be still it says, it is time to choose love over hate. It is time it whispers, it is time. 



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