|via: barbara oliveria|
I was washing the floor in the kitchen the other day, and seeing as we have a door to the backyard from it it naturally gets dirty pretty fast and I also like to make sure whatever potato bug etc that have died there are given a proper burial in my garbage. For some reason I was thinking about how when things die they quickly lose their colour, as I'm sweeping up this white little dusty bug. It made me think about how although Spring is associated with living, budding, blossoming and green, the theory that things are most alive when they are their most colourful made a good case for the start of (my favourite season) of Autumn. I've always thought it was the brief time when was the world seemed most awake.
All you have to do is look at the changing leaves, and how unbelievably red and orange and yellow they will get.. something I'm looking forward to. You can't argue that Summer or Spring is quite the same, although very colourful. Not even if it were under a sparkly blanket of fresh snow on a Winter night, or amongst chipper birds singing on a rosey fragrant Summer morning; it's colours are not the same. I like to think of it as the short moment in that year when things are at their best and most vibrant; where that little bite of chilly air that makes you put your hands in your jacket pockets is the whole world telling you to pay attention because things are happening. And it wants you to remember to be happening, too. And love being and seeing and doing all of it.
With a cute sweater, of course. The whole world definitely wants you to remember to wear one. I mean, Winners has a whole section called Chunky Knits... you can't ignore this.