Вальс-бостон

Autumn in this waltz is not sad, but plays its own game: leaves swirl like dresses at a ball, the saxophone whispers hoarsely, and somewhere in the courtyards, the walls of houses witness a small miracle. Everything around seems to forget about time - even old walls fall in love with their own youth. A little sweet nostalgia, a little aching sadness, and that very dream where the record spins endlessly and autumn dances as if it were her last celebration.