The mild autumn nights sleep to dream of winter. We enter the cold comes. Dancing leaves, that dazzles us of color, magic and dreams, go without rancor. It is the abandonment of those afternoons when the wind was crazy. It is that time when the beauty of a season has not found it to be replaced but still rest fled. Autumn leaves us early, and winter in no hurry to comfort us with a sweet white cloak, agrees to offer than its simple and bitter cold nights. It is at the crossroads of twilight nights of autumn and early winter that is born the pleasant crackling fireplaces. A new born fire, the flames go away. These are colors
memories come to dance for us on the effect of a glass mirror. Dazzling beauty of the past, we like to remember. Similar to the enchanting colors of the leaves, its treacherous flames of a promising future we consume in the past. Pleasure of the new warmth, comfort some of the idealistic romanticism, it's a flashback often feared. By this point, we think we still fall far, to please his decorations that accompanied us throughout our lives. Night painful transition, fall holds us when we call winter. Winter sings about beautiful praise the sweet words of his season. Yet it remains cold and uncertain, unconsciously offensive. In the glass mirror
dazzled by the flames, rise delicate and ephemeral happy bubbles. Exciting to be dressed in this burst of color tears and dreams of both, they spin, climb, and agree in a ballet of sentiment. Exploding on the surface, they release the full weight of fire they have brought along this glass. And as tireless renaissance at the foot of the flute, she gets dressed in the same light clothing.
Movement endless, they are images of fall colors that changing, continue in winter. But they are always drunk. Drunk quickly, happy drunk, she will drink this, yet leave room for disillusionment? The year is still flowing.
A touch the dreams of the past we leave the future dreams.
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