The cold and the wind, the shadow’ sun with the clouds’ sky to meeting in November.

They to look and the end they are for accord in the opinions.

They arrived under the Sagittarian ’sign. 

The arrow after the arrow, caught of fear, they ask the pity to sun.

Few warm!

For  the earth.

For the people.

Look what the hard cloths, they to walking hardest , they are afraid!

In same kind the tale by November arrive.

We, the commune people listening the wind, feeling the cold , looking after the sun.

Sometimes we desire him near about us, in same way we lost the coldest, the rigidity , jealousy. 

Few friends, in solitude.

Few are strange  with nudity’s trees.

Few are thinkers touching the grass under frost. 

A mental   pause with November, an emptiness in the sky , an emptiness on earth, in front and in back are the reflections. 

You contemplate in obscurity, the tree seem to be a graphic leaves of nature; in black, brown , grey to raise covered the skyline.

The landscape is in the  lines; highly, lowly, lateral, the branches raises , round the air, the eyes has the fragments by branches, it’s a vision that to meet only one time , remaining in sequence leaved of a paintre. The lines , the colors, are shadows , to seeking few leaves , the sky remains the bleu, with the wandering clouds. 

The rain is falling, the shadows are on the street , to passed hurried , to feeling  only the rumors of words over all.

The smell of tea and the coffee abound in city , a tale listened, after lost in the evening.

The night  arrive under the stars with the dreams , a dream that enters in day with the wind under the rain. 

A light month with little sun waiting the passage in winter , his beautiful is in obscure landscape, the tree nudity, the grass colored in yellow under frost, a times peaceful in falling’s rain.

The water raise, the sun heat the latest days remains of fall, a rhythm between the water, the liberty of to be in nature is present to looked the birds , to listen the wind. 

Sometimes is romantic in books’ pages , with the fire forward , drink steamed of teas. 

A romanticism by November , an arrow that passes near of heart, contemplating the sky, coloring the thinks.

An imaginary landscape, an obscurity that is lost in darkness ad after  back comes  in force with the warm colors  under the sun.

The thinks of fall, the thinks of love, we are romantics in same times , because you want to pass the times in two ?

The times pass in hour , minutes , seconds, every morning is an awakening, every day has his beautiful , certainly a news exist. 

Cinema. 

Theatre. 

Spectacle. 

Shopping .

Walks. 

Works. 

Study.

Reading. 

You fall asleep.

You dream. 

The life pass, is implicated , you appreciated the moment, the times is make for you, with the joy, with the sadness. 

The day after day to learn for to live, for every month you have a sentiment , you change the thinks, you become strong or weak, you win or leave beaten. 

An year that you pass in four seasons , you start with January and the end you found in December. 

A travel in every month, you contemplate, you look  the beautiful , you know the sentiments , laugh , cry. 

Anyway you go straight. 

It’s hope  after the day, after the week, after the month in the seasons. 

November remains a reflexing.

A pass among the seasons….