A tree of red leaves in the autumn, of gold, of orange

We marvel at the beauty of it all

But then, when the trees grow bare, when the leaves have fallen and no one sees them anymore, no one looks, they have served their time, they have had their moment of beauty.

A leaf falls, it begins to curl up into itself, that is when I pick it up, and hold it, and paint it.

At that moment when it is no longer of use, when it is discarded, that is when it is the most beautiful and precious to me.

I have always wanted to hold on to time, to expand a moment of beauty, to stretch what I see so that I can see more clearly the patterns, the inside, so that I can see beyond.

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There may be no next time.