Encrusted In Charcoal

 

 

It is that beautiful time of the year again. Nothing is more beautiful and more imaginable than autumn, yet it brought with it the smell of death. When I look out of my windows all I could see are black birds trying to eat the fallen berries, and along the way they hit hard against my window and fall down dead on the ground. The grass is no longer growing, the basil has long gone dead, and the leaves though pretty are all weary and dead. It is as though you don’t have to care for anything anymore; things are just dying in front of your eyes.

Autumn to me is a mosaic of water color and oil painting that is encrusted in charcoal. It is beautiful yet deadly.

May be I am just like all the falling leaves, that hide the path of all my miseries, pretending to be dead, but yet I am still alive.