The Gypsy Girl

I like the quiet lakes and their reviving breeze, where the water’s eyes are always sleepy. You can't imagine its red cheek in the winter nights. I remember when my mother had made a nice hat for it. My mother is so expert in the seasonal souls and she told me that the autumn is a gypsy girl. I didn't see autumn, but I am sure that my mother saw her because she described her face precisely. She told me that autumn is flying between the trees’ branches as a small bird and leaving her veil weaving airily in our souls. Sometimes I feel that autumn is a fairy and you may see her stormy tale swimming deeply in our dreams’ water.