Autumn in Moscow is as beautiful as painful: at first is a true romantic explosion of colours, a rainbow of emotions connecting the hot dusty summer to the freezing icy winter. Leaves all around, a sweet melancholy of lost dreams.
Slowly all the leaves are carried away by the soviet administration, and inexorably life dies, day after day, and a colorful melancholy leaves place to a sad bare ground.
Pulling out the jacket from the wardrobe and putting the sun back into it; the mirage of a fast summer slowly fades out, like the end of a nice movie.
The frost slowly takes over, and Russians eventually find themselves in their natural environment.
Slowly all the leaves are carried away by the soviet administration, and inexorably life dies, day after day, and a colorful melancholy leaves place to a sad bare ground.
Pulling out the jacket from the wardrobe and putting the sun back into it; the mirage of a fast summer slowly fades out, like the end of a nice movie.
The frost slowly takes over, and Russians eventually find themselves in their natural environment.
No comments:
Post a Comment