赤秋
Red Autumn
The last of aka aki impresses it's beauty. The first koyo tattooed on my inner eyelids, for each time I miss those leaves, I can return. The colours of these months are the most treasured. I wander Fukuoka, drinking the yellowness of ginko leaves, gulping the crispiest sea air, dining out on a sandwich of winter sunlight and whistling breeze. Mulled spiced wine, gargantuan chestnuts, the festive aromas from England swim about the wooden house. Red poinsettia's frame each florists while artificial sliver trees compete with the last of Autumn's golden glow. Leg lined thermals, palms in palms, hot sencha, kotatsu mushi.
Red Autumn
The last of aka aki impresses it's beauty. The first koyo tattooed on my inner eyelids, for each time I miss those leaves, I can return. The colours of these months are the most treasured. I wander Fukuoka, drinking the yellowness of ginko leaves, gulping the crispiest sea air, dining out on a sandwich of winter sunlight and whistling breeze. Mulled spiced wine, gargantuan chestnuts, the festive aromas from England swim about the wooden house. Red poinsettia's frame each florists while artificial sliver trees compete with the last of Autumn's golden glow. Leg lined thermals, palms in palms, hot sencha, kotatsu mushi.
