Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The beauty of dried leaves.

Leaves falling, producing crunching, crisping sound.
It's the time to prepare for the winter.
No matter hot summer it has got, it can't escape the withdrawal of the power of nature.

Now, sitting next to the dried plants and fallen leaves, I started to wonder, aren't we the same? Aren't we getting old and wrinkled with hunched back?

The fight against of maturity is vain. If we can't escape getting older, and aged, I prefer to age gracefully. Yes, that's my wish.

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