As a tired composer.. Valdanka Cvetkovic

 

As a tired composer, with his fingers wet from the rain, on a green piano made of leaves, Autumn composes ballads and sonatas. Her fingers intertwine, like hair through which a comb passes, removing the yellow and copper keys of the piano from the branches. There is some green left on one branch of the tree. The sky is gray, full of drops that wet the path I walk. I tread on yellow and copper races that until recently gave tones on a sour tree. I'm wet too, but that doesn't bother me to look at nature, the picture of the seasons that is the same every year, but in its own way attractive. The green color is now more beautiful than usual, so you like yellow. The trees merge in the distance and are vaguely visible because of the gray clouds in the sky that bring autumn sadness ... The sun can still be seen only as a lost spot on a nose ... I walk, while autumn, a tireless composer, fingers wet from the rain on a green piano of leaves,