Days are tinted in colorful hues and a dreamy pale amber sunlight scatters itty-bitty stars across the garden; across the privet with its November trees, and November birds.
There’s a whiff of apples and cinnamon toast hanging from the atmosphere, and mornings are bringing in with them a silky-cold air that makes the world sing songs ablaze in crimsons, goldenrods and brown.
When evenings approach, the sun shines pumpkin gold and there's a dreamy scent blowing magic everywhere. The gypsy girl then looks up to the sky. She sees the signs. She hears the songs. She considers it all.
The air is wild with colors and the world has turned old. Time to make memories under the autumnal sun...
The little gypsy girl braids her hair the gypsy way. She dresses up in skirts in Ashes, Oaks, and Maples and goes out in search of the sun—to dream, to fly, to soar in wings of butterflies.
She’s a swirling, a whirling, a Mary Poppins of sorts. It’s magic, it’s magical. It’s November – spring over the ground.
This is a spice shop out here… sunshine has spread out a carpet of leaves of every name, and the gypsy caravan is a flapping of wings under the autumnal trees.
Colorful draped fabrics, pillows, beads, and a nice heater on high… because oh my friends it is cold… freezing cold around here. Yes sir!
So get your woolies on and take out your scarves... won't you come with me and explore what wonders await for us scattered out there? C'mon!
Ah autumn. A magic beyond all we do here!
Thank you for coming with me my friends!
And may you always find magic wherever you may find yourself.