Bottle That Shit




Autumn. If one season had to play the metaphor for life, autumn would take the lead.







Autumn is last call for drinks. Things that spring gave life to have reached old age. It's everything coming to an end. It's a signpost with a question mark asking how it got so late so soon. And practicing what it preaches, the season itself is fleeting. If it didn't have so much purpose, like summer that just chills, autumn might blink and miss itself. 






The little brat is way off. Autumn isn't melancholy, it's a part of life. The leaves had to fall at some stage. It's dumb to jump around in spring without filing away somewhere in the back of your mind that what goes up must come down. Only the old can know if natural death is scary when it comes around the corner. One thing it shouldn't be is surprising. We all rolling on that dust2dust tip.









Autumn packs its bags really fucking fast. But one moment is all you need. A this is it moment. Last weekend my brother and I went for a pootle in the park and locked onto one of the most beautiful autumn days i can remember. It flashed us in all its glory. A proper autumn day, one to take stock of, and become one of those chiefs pointing cameras at trees, lowering the camera by degrees but maintaining the gaze treeward, before looking down... slowly, sincerely, in a maze of contemplation. 








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