Autumn Leaves.

It was autumn, the springtime of death. Rain spattered the rotting leaves, and a wild wind wailed. Death was singing in the shower. Death was happy to be alive. The fetus bailed out without a parachute. It landed in the sideline Astroturf, so upsetting the cheerleaders that for the remained of the afternoon their rahs were more like squeaks.

—–Tom Robbins in: Still Life With Woodpecker

 

the author

Ralph Spegel

<p>Photographer, designer, inventor, typographer, father of zero (yet), Brazilian, German, living in the UK. I almost do not know anything. But I suspect a lot.</p>