Golden leaves, sheet music written by the unforgiving hand of time
Golden leaves, sheet music written by the unforgiving hand of time,
Fall in the slow rhythm of years that slip away like sand in an hourglass.
We are violins tuned to the melancholic tone of the eternal autumn,
Playing the ephemeral melody of life on the fragile strings of existence.
The mirror of the lake reflects the leaden sky of memory,
Ripples of water intersect with the wrinkles of time on the face of aging nature.
Memories dance in whirlwinds of wind like ghosts of the past,
Like dried leaves from the faded summers of our lost youth.
The scent of ripe apples and the smoke of burnt wood float in the air of nostalgia,
The final symphony of nature before the long sleep of life's winter.
Each note is more precious than the gold in our dreams of yore,
In the final concert of seasons that succeed mercilessly towards infinity.
Trees, people deeply rooted in the fertile soil of the past,
Some still green with hope, others bare of illusions, all whispering untold stories.
We are lost travelers through the park of collective and personal memory,
Gathering yellowed leaves from the album of life that thins with each passing day.
Spring once lied to us with sweet dreams of youth without old age,
Summer intoxicated us with the bright mirage of a promised eternity.
But autumn, sincere in its golden and rusted melancholy,
Teaches us, with gentleness and firmness, the beautiful and cruel lesson of passing.
We are but fleeting notes on the cosmic staff of existence,
Meant to resonate for a moment and then fall silent in the great silence.
But in this fleeting and fragile melody of our limited existence,
We find the heartbreaking beauty of the moment that shines before it fades.
Each autumn is a priceless gift in the crown of years that dwindle,
An elegant invitation to the last dance with the life that still pulses within us.
We gather precious moments like golden fruits from an enchanted garden,
From the orchard of time that shrinks but becomes ever sweeter and more intense.
We breathe deeply the cold and fresh air of the autumn embracing us,
Feeling how we become one with nature in its eternal cycle of birth and death.
In the violet evening silence, we vow to live each autumn with intensity,
As if it were our last symphony in the grand orchestra of the universe.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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