letter 1

autumn

Autumn Effect at Argenteuil - Claude Monet (1873)

Dear friends,

I took the decision to start writing letters for this Substack. Well, I going to do this in English, I’m sorry, but I must practice. Maybe you can send me a message to give me your opinion about it.

Let’s start.

I’m pleased by these sober colors. Autumn here is wonderful, almost equal to our spring. It’s like staying inside a fridge with different fruits and vegetables colors. My hands sometimes had cramps, but doesn’t matter if I had this view (and gloves). The park is an amazing cliché, like a painting of Monet. I’m catching a little of sun while the leaves fly around me. They’re leaving the trees to drop on the ground. Is it an alive painting? Yellow, brown, green, and a “shy” red are mixing with the floor. It makes me feel obsessed with the autumn. Comparing with home, I didn’t find much orange in the blue sky, all of them is on the branches.

I would like to be one of the autumn leaves. They have a last dance with the wind, falling slowly around and around, closer and closer to the grass. Then, they lay down to mix with the ground. I catch a leaf and feel that it’s not too wet, like the grass. I think it’s because take a time to adapt to the new home, new places, new colors, new seasons…

As soon as possible, the autumn will exchange information with the winter. Someone told me that the messenger is the wind. I’m always in jealous of him. He conducts dances, carries information, touches everything and makes my nose bleed. He looks anxious for the next season, walking fast and passing through everything impatiently and, in this sense, I think I look like him.

A dog barks, interrupting my thoughts. I listen to some girls laugh. I look around and see some young people drinking and playing. Marisa Monte starts to play in my headphones. I’m missing home. But that’s fine, I’m not sad, is part of the life job. I’m grateful to have a place to come back.

Liebe Großes,
Lara

today’s tip
Autumn Sonata - Ingmar Bergman