This Gloomy Autumn…

On a gloomy October noon a flock of wild geese were flying home to Southern countries watching helplessly the death of life that once had been blooming in the Summer. Indifferent trees were scattering their leaves, creating a colourful mosaic on the surface of the river.
And there, high on the bridge, stood a young man. And he was alone among plenty of falling leaves. And nothing could save him from his cruel, undeserved loneliness, nothing could break through the castle of bewildered determination to put a full stop to the sad story of his life.
To be or not to be –
That is the question.
Once betrayed by his beloved lady he couldn’t bear the bondage of living.
He could trust nobody. Nobody cared for him any longer. With a smile of a stark mad man, he was about to surrender to the soothing blue depth of the river when suddenly an old man put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
– My dear boy! Don’t make the biggest mistake of your life! There is much beauty in the world you have to see. You have to live on. At least to admire the great revival of nature in the spring!

By Ilyas Synbulatov

He went.
He went very slowly, the leaves rustled under his feet…
He knew that soon everything would end…
He knew that nothing could please him in his life…
He saw only grey clouds, a gloomy, dull sky, his broken soul, his broken dreams…

He thought…
He thought how wonderful it was to be happy like a child, but
He knew that his life would change…
He felt that soon everything would end…

He remembered…
He remembered the heat, the sun, the laughter, her blue eyes…
He felt how hard it was for him to live in this grey world.

He stopped.
He felt how hotly beat his cold heart
He though that it would be good if she was near him…

He understood that after she had gone away there was an autumn in his heart.
Eternal autumn…
He understood that there was no pleasure in his world…
Without her…
He closed his eyes… it began to rain… awful autumn rain and sadness…
He understood…
He understood how he loved her…
He went, than he ran, he ran like a hurricane…
He ran on pools, ran from his troubles, misfortune…

He couldn’t
He couldn’t run away… run away from himself…

He fell…
He fell down… face in dirt…
He closed his eyes… compressed his fists…
He was angry…
He was angry that he couldn’t keep his faith, his hope, his love…

He couldn’t keep her…
It was his last autumn.

By W. Ustiantsev

I wonder whether somebody likes late autumn? When leaves have already lost their colour and also have all fallen down. When the sun does not give us its last warm beams any more. When the bright azure sky does not look through heavy, severe, thoughtful clouds. And at night, through these clouds, bright stars cannot wink at us in any way, and the moon does not smile at us widely and openly. When more and more often winds pursue us and, like robbers, catch us from behind a corner and take away our last drops of health.
And there are mudpuddles everywhere. Everywhere you look you see pools. Small ones, greater ones and those which cannot be bypassed. And it rains cats and dogs without stopping. The rain is absolutely sad and gloomy. It seems to have made an agreement with the winds, and they, together, threaten us with their power and force. And sometimes the rain, having taken offence at everything, drizzles silently everywhere and even the wind does not interfere in it.
The most pleasant thing is to be at home in such weather. When you look out of the window and see how huge the world is and how small you are. And how terribly and haughty this world forbids you to leave the house. And if you disobey and leave, he will bring down all his rage on you. And huge, gloomy skyscrapers, and small, grey houses will compassionately see you off with gloomy sighs. But you put yourself together and go out about your business, struggling with nature.
Nevertheless, this bad weather can also be wonderful. Say, from the point of view of a poet who writes verses on the unfortunate love in this moment or from the point of view of a composer who seeks inspiration in loneliness, while the sound of rattling rain helps him to think up an awfally attractive melody. As someone once said, nature does not have bad weather.

By O. Elanskya

Autumn… It is a quiet, gloomy season of the year. It is the season when nature prepares for sleep. All around us becomes grey and dreary: the sun doesn’t give us its beams anymore, birds don’t sing so cheerfully as in summer, flowers wither…
Autumn comes when the summer has already bothered. Autumn decorates with her paints everything around in yellow, in crimson attires. All becomes so beautiful as if the autumn gathered a ball in honour of the victory over summer and celebrates it together with nature. But, unfortunately, they can rejoice only for a short time…
The summer stuffy nights are over, the time of cool winds and rain comes. Trees throw down their multicoloured attires and every tree looks like lonely Cinderella after the clock strikes midnight. All around us comes to a standstill. Nature sleeps. Sleep. Silent. Deafening silence.
We want spring to come the sooner, the better.

By P. Isaeva

Autumn comes
And trees are shedding their leaves,
And Mother Nature blushes
Before disrobing.
N. West

Autumn… This word is pleasant and wonderful. This word reminds some of something sad, gloomy or nasty and for others it is the time of change, the beginning of something new.
Autumn is the most colourful season. At the beginning, autumn is beautiful and changeable like a young lady and, like a young lady, Miss Autumn changes her clothes. Then, autumn flashes with strength and burns with colours, presenting us the feeling of joy and delight. Nature is happy to try on her best dresses, which she must take off soon. At the same time people also feel joy and happiness.
All things are overfilled with happiness all over the world. Nature celebrates picking up the last drops of happiness. Autumn has gathered all forces, has shown her beauty… and begins to fade. Day by day, nature weeps like a young lady over her misfortune. Day by day the leaves fall down. Changes in nature, change the colours, changes the world, change in people. Our joy drops out with each falling leaf. Every day, autumn becomes gloomy and sad. People walking along the streets are also gloomy and sad as living dead bodies. Who needs this autumn? People are so small and puddles are so large. People just need to live through this nasty autumn.
Tomorrow it will be winter. And with white fluffy snow begins new life with a blank sheet of paper. And now, we must only wait for this white snow and a new day. Meanwhile autumn becomes quiet and grey but soon it covers everything with a white blanket and falls asleep. And somebody will think: “It was not an unpretty autumn!”

By Angelina Nikolajeva

It’s hard to say which season is the best, each is beautiful in its own way. Many people think that autumn is a very unpleasant season. But, as for me I don’t agree with this statement. Though, this autumn is the longest autumn in my life.
But certainly, I like to walk on the carpet of bright leaves, listen to the last songs of birds flying to warm countries. Look at nature, these colours of autumn can drive anybody mad. The forest in the park seems to be friendly, it beckons us, and it wishes to show something and maybe open a mystery. And it looks like a fairy-tale.
But sometimes, I feel fear. Everything is dull and sad. It seems to me, all nature of the forest is against me. The path covers the leaves. The trees stand terribly tired. It is the end of the year. And the life of all plants is finished. It fades away and nothing can be done. And the men there are the only creatures, who continue to live in the mysterious and gloomy autumn.

By N. Luchenkova

In my opinion, describing autumn is as big as life. Autumn. This gloomy autumn. What shall I do when in the middle of October, the weather is dull! Every morning when you wake up you meet the world full of life, so bright and pure with everlasting dull weather. So that the sky and my hopes are falling. Unconsciously I dream about the smiling year. Autumn is closely connected with deafening silence. It’s full of secrets.
But I should say that the season makes people feel differently. It inspires opposite feelings. Some try to find loneliness, not meeting with others, listening to music and reading joyful books.
Some are not influenced by bad weather, do their best struggling against rains, cold, smog and so on. Now and then, the loneliness follows them closely. It appears in the grey crowd and transmisses.

By Irma Konovalova

Autumn. It is a cold gloomy day. It is the best of times, it is the worst of times. The clouds are drifting across the sky. A grey sky is hanging over the trees and the trees are dressed in yellow, red and green clothes. The trees stand still and silent, but sometimes whisper with the wind, and the wind cries like a little child.
Leaves fall like flakes, and flakes fall slowly like feathers. And the trees stand in their birthday suits. And the wind tells them: “I have told you about it a hundred times!” But they are rather annoyed by it and they say: “We look awfully nice! In winter we’ll dress in our white diamond clothes!” The wind says: “I am sorry. I am so sorry. I am so extremely sorry!” And the wind keeps silent.
The grass is captured by the leaves.
The birds fly away to warm countries, singing their beautiful songs.
The sudden wind makes branches dance and cry. Leaves fall on the earth like snowflakes.
Darkness falls. A mist falls. Night is falling fast. The wind falls. Sleep falls upon them.
Everything has gone into a deep sleep, only the leaves sing a melody of autumn.

By Gulja Muhametzhanova

This gloomy autumn… Gloomy. Autumn. Why do I keep thinking of this? Isn’t it strange for a young girl on such a sunny day to think like the Miss Are You Always Dull? She had no answer. Probably she wanted to answer. If scientists could only explain the work of our mind. I would know then. Stupid thoughts. I’m meeting my better half and think about sad things. Sad… Why sad? She almost felt something arising in her, but she was getting rid of those feelings, or maybe her conscious was getting rid of them. Well, anyway I guess it’s quite strange to pay attention. Moreover, the weather didn’t give any reason to do this. Sometimes our outside world isn’t connected with our inside world. Gloomy. It was really not so. A sunny, warm, even stuffy bright green environment surrounded her. What a pity she could not see all this. I’m too happy to think of this gloomy autumn. Is this gloomy autumn feeling something I am expecting or something I am afraid to expect. You see everything on such a summer day in autumn if you are… I don’t know what. Why should I be in a bad mood. I have… She didn’t manage to make a stop. The driver didn’t either. Gloomy. Autumn. Not only for her now.

By Natalya Zozulya

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, – thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue.
John Keats, “To Autumn”

8 o’clock. You wake up in the morning. It is dark and gloomy outside. It has come. Awful Autumn, which ornamented the grass on the lawns and leaves on the trees auburn colours, has already come.
As you get out of bed and get ready for work or classes it becomes lighter. But still there is no sun. Outside are only grey clouds. Crows are sitting and rattling on the black wet naked branches and croaking very loudly at the passers-by. You are lucky if it does not rain. At least that is a small joy. Quite often, however, it rains and then you must make your way through the city with thousands of other people, looking like wet hens, rushing and pushing and trying to stay dry. They slap on the puddles awkwardly and step on the wet muddily leaves, sometimes they stumble from the paths in the swelled soil with dim grass. Hoods, caps, hats, infinitely many umbrellas run about the streets like scalded cats. Only umbrellas are everywhere. A few hours go by and before you even know it, the day is gone and it is dark once again. It is getting extremely dull. You look at your watch and see that it is only 4 o’clock. Sad. Lonely. Dreary. Depressing. Sorrowful. You feel Glum. Dejected. Where can we take power for enduring this gloomy day?
But suddenly you think to yourself: it is not a bad season. Just a few more months of this and then joyful Spring will come again!

By L. Bobkova

I cannot bear this gloomy autumn…
This sky is as grey as a mouse.
This sun is as pale as a pancake.
I cannot bear this autumn at all.
This wind is as wild as the west.
These trees are as naked as a snake.
I cannot bear this gloomy autumn…
These leaves are as red as blood.
This grass is as yellow as jaundice.
I cannot bear this autumn at all.
These clouds are as thick as a stone.
This air is as stale as jam.
I cannot bear this gloomy autumn…
These fruit are as sickly sweet as honey.
This rain is as foul as heartburn.
I cannot bear this autumn at all.
These puddles are as deep as a ditch.
This mud is as sticky as chewing gum.
I cannot bear this gloomy autumn…
These people are as sleepy as a bear.
These smiles are as rare as eruption of a volcano.
I cannot bear this autumn at all.
These lamps are as lonely as a wolf.
These cars are as slow as a turtle.
I cannot bear this gloomy autumn…
This darkness is as constant as time.
This night is as long as life.
I cannot bear this autumn at all.
This study is as endless as space.
I cannot bear this gloomy autumn…

By Nastya Marinina

Autumn. With might and main the city is trying not to fall into deep, dark depression…
Hopelessly!
Translucent, weak trees are losing their last leaves, as a poor miserable bagger loses his last shred of hope to find the home.
Driz-z-zling…
The sky cries inconsolably, observing the long, painful death of nature. Grey, heavey clouds, as silent witnesses of a crime, overcovering with endless spider’s web the helpless city, which is no longer able to tear oneself from heart embrace of ruthless Autumn. Despondent passer by splashing through the mud, shivering with cold, wraping themselves in warm, woolen scarfs.
Dark, faceless mass.
The cold breath of wind, like an imperceptible shadow, chill to the marrow of our soul, looking into it secret nooks, forbidden thoughts and pipe-dreams. Useless reminiscences as a heap of rotten leaves, which a gardener had swept together and is going to burn to ashes, but you realize that Autumn had taken away from you the very last zest in your soul, which could put an End to your useless memories and set your soul free. All this looks like an endless, awful nightmare, from which the city is not able to wake up.
It’s very sad.
“…No sun – no moon,
no morn – no noon…
November.”
I seat near the window, observing the cry of nature for hours. The drop of the rain on the glass – traces of tears on my cheeks… The smoke of a cigarette, maybe it is possible to hide in this soft shroud, to see and to here nothing and not to think about the future, about dozens of days, hundred of hours, thousands of seconds. Seconds of darkness, loneliness and Lie. Lie, which likes Autumn, inevitably covers all our life.
Hopeless! All is Hopeless!
Isn’t it amusing? No, fortunately…
All our life looks like an old, dirty, torn shoe, which was thrown away to the rubbish heap. But why? It was so devoted to his master and now it is alone, all alone. Maybe its twin brother was lucky and it was left at home for a small, shaggy puppy, just for Fun.
Ha, that’s interesting. Who was more lucky?...
An old, dirty, torn shoe, a good comparison for human’s Life. But it’s true… In Autumn, the life in the city comes to a standstill, loses it’s purpose and becomes as useless as an old shoe.
The fifth cigarette… Time: 00.45…
It’s time to go to sleep.
You know, sometimes lying in a bed and thinking about the future, you wish not to wake up tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, but if only for a couple of months…

By I. Kireychenko