So happy it turns back to sad...

You expect to be sad in the fall. Part of you dies each year when the leaves fall from the trees and their branches are sent against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you know there will always be the spring, as you know the river will flow again after it is frozen. And at no other time does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe essence of every living thing; a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost, something incredibly nostalgic and significant, as we bare witness to the annual cascade of autumn leaves.