We are now in autumn. Sycamore, wisteria, acemborazan, acacia, turmeric shed their leaves. Those left on the branch are parched and fallen, as if they will fall.
Fall is September for me. October, November is autumn ...
I am in Marmara Island, where I can best experience the sadness of Fall that evokes poems.
But first the storks, then the swallows, then the other migratory birds circled around me in circles and said goodbye, I could not look and wave a hand.
The sky shows all its stars in September. Autumn has come and gone on Marmara Island, where the city lights do not obscure the stars, and even once I could not lay back on the beach and wink at the stars.