Indian summer, summer of love, some would say.
What kind of love, I would ask.
But Gemini, May children were denied the so called "voice rights".
Indian summer, summer of love it is then.
Ends and goes to the season in which I am a part of the air,
in which I soak and I absolutely love it.
Into the season of suspended smoke.
I like the moment, when the sun comes down
I like the silence, interrupted by a gust of wind
I like to fall asleep to the sound of rain drops
I waited for the rain
City dried out copletely
Clouds of dust wander around the campus
And autumn finally began to smell
Autumn, like salvation,
to hide in leaves
up to my knees, up to my neck,
and to listen to Jeff Buckely on boards of floor :)
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