rain [Theme] Page 5

I love autumn, coffee and chrysanthemums. I love the autumn air, like thick honey and sticking to my fingertips. I love the rustle of fallen leaves under my feet, I love silence and autumn slowness, rain and dullness. I hear jazz notes in autumn. A little sleepy, viscous, enveloping. They smell like coffee with cinnamon and chocolate. Jazz is so well written and read, thought and slept. And it doesn’t matter to you at all what the weather is outside the window, the main thing is to always be warm in your heart ...

Outside the window it is pouring rain, as if wanting to flow in cold jets not only on the windowsill, but also into the soul. Drops drum on the dark glass, distorting the light of neighboring houses, street lamps and passing cars in the bustle. Darkness envelops the city, driving people to large sofas in warm apartments, to small cafes in corners with glasses of wine and conversations, or to the back rows of cinemas with endless films about love, gunfights or the salvation of the universes by brilliant heroes. It is precisely such evenings with memories of the main, joyful and valuable things that we always keep deep in ourselves or even in small frames from the recent past that warm our hearts.

After the rain, thousands of puddles appear and ... one mirror, if a genius got caught in the rain.

Because it's October again and perfume apples, cookies, a blanket and comfort, and so, day after day, our year is beautifully spun by someone there, from above.

calling, spinning, a fallen leaf.

Autumn is a philosophical season. In it, everything is familiar and still always special. And the rustle of leaves, and the flying wedge of birds, and drizzling light rain, and icy fingers warmed by the warmth of the breath of loved ones.

You betrayed me.

Drops of rain fall.

Here you are sitting alone in the apartment, it is already evening and the clouds do not let in sunlight. Suddenly you hear thunder, it starts to rain heavily. You look out the window. Lights are on in the apartments, and you are alone in the darkness. You lack only one thing - care. You are very lonely.

Autumn is about hot coffee, slightly burning with either temperature or the bitterness of roasting, about milky fogs in the early morning and the smell of smoke from chimneys, about sunlight, like melted honey, about long walks and cozy evenings with yellowed pages of old books, about the whistle of a boiling, polished, pot-bellied teapot and steam rising from cups of fragrant herbal tea, about days filled with the smell of coffee beans and cinnamon, about Akhmatova’s quatrains aloud, about jazz compositions that returned to the playlist, about spicy autumn perfume, with a smoky aroma of cherry bones, about a bouquet of maple leaves and picnics with grapes, buns and delicate goat cheese, about the rain outside the window of a warm house, in which the feet are buried in the soft pile of the carpet, and the palms are warmed by a cup of cocoa with almond crumbs. Autumn is about what fills your heart with woolen autumn comfort.

Memories creep back.

A person's life is cut short.

The rain will pass, the clouds will dissipate, the puddles will evaporate, like bad days.

A light rain is pouring on the ground, you are bored outside the window, and you have always been like this for a long time - you meet your loneliness with your native rain.