When i’m out and it’s autumn, my thank you’s to the universe seem infinite.

Summer is leaving silently. Much like a traveler approaching the end of an amazing journey.

Trees still grow after letting dead things go.

And you say Paris is gay, but it has its down times. You say go in the spring and not the summer, because watching the autumn creep through the Rive Gauche preparing for winter is hard.

Autumn. The grace in letting dead things fall.