The Bay of Boston

So did the leaves shivered at the breath of a sudden chill, in the midst of colorful hopes already drift lovers fallen in the trap of illusion, the same road awaits. Montreal was cold and gray and all those shops incongruous with spices and pungent smells deceived us of where we really were. I have left you in such moldy flats to spend the endless winter, lone at your empty banquet your enthusiasm long before had vanished. The sightseeing along the highway staged a melancholic show: distant reds, yellows, an agonizing greens red, burgundy, into brown again. A see-through of skeletons the stretched trees implored slowly sinking into apparent death. I now look at the dense black water of the ocean washing needles ashore while the unrelenting joy of a clear day stands behind newly built outstanding condos waiting.