In the mist of rain washing away the edges of being, people staged a carnival. Cheerful and unrestrained with disguises and masks, procession and fireworks. A grand celebration full of color and variety. But the holiday is autumn. Harlequin, tired but satisfied, has already bowed his head under the weight of autumn bliss. There is no place for sorrow, there is a place for autumn.
Oil paints
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In the mist of rain washing away the edges of being, people staged a carnival. Cheerful and unrestrained with disguises and masks, procession and fireworks. A grand celebration full of color and variety. But the holiday is autumn. Harlequin, tired but satisfied, has already bowed his head under the weight of autumn bliss. There is no place for sorrow, there is a place for autumn.
Oil paints
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