de Renal

Summer is slowly dying, the air is not as hot anymore. Morning chills always soothe me somehow, there's a feeling of ease in everything I do.
Autumn is my favourite time of year. Trails of long shadows following my steps, walking through the streets covered with fallen leaves; I hear them rustling among my feet. The days are shorter, the Sun low above the horizon, and warm winds mix the clouds in the bloody sky, announcing the evening that slowly falls from the vast oceans of universe.
There's a feeling of sadness and happiness, intertwined with memories of the past and anticipation of what may come. There's a need to walk through the parks in the afternoons, sit on benches, watch people go by and invent their fortunes, while, at the same time, my spirit wanders off to my balcony, where I sit with sunset on my face, tucked up in blanket with book in my hands and thoughts in distant lands. Sometimes it's the timeline that stops existing, and I find myself drifting back through the centuries, roaming through the halls of ancient monasteries, feeling the spirits coming back to life, speaking the illnesses of their times, or wandering over the squares of middle age towns, watching the processions of weary knights coming back from eastern wars. Fair ladies pass me by, beggars and paupers of ill skin and rotten teeth approach me, grinning at my face, asking for food, hoarsely laughing. I come from another time, but they don't frighten me; antics and jugglers, monks and peasants, healers and clairvoyants whirling up the dust, transforming their three-dimensional space into the reality of my sleepy room. And I find myself back in my chair, awakened from the daydreaming, regretting the swiftness of time into which I’m lost. The borders are erased, and all that there is left are remains of the day.