The light of these autumnal afternoons is not reaching my window anymore, it stops right before the threshold, as if to caress it. It has lost the intensity and vigour of summer, when it flooded the room with its arrogance. Now it is discreet, even shy sometimes, and it is this delicacy that makes it precious, when it creates a thousand different shades of these changing colours.
Green still predominates, but there are already many strokes of yellow, some of orange. There will be new tones tomorrow, warmer ones, new lights, and new shadows.
An impressionist painting, in constant permutation.
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