I have such fond memories of the time when autumn comming to my Shemiran. For me, autumn has always been associated with melancholy, a feeling that I am hardly able to talk about with other people, so I prefer to write about autumn or draw what I feel at this time of year.

Summer has already gone like a passing love. The Parisian winter cold is looming on the horizon, everything is turning grey. Everything seems dead or about to die. I love the smell of autumn nature but when I am in the woods around Paris - walking with my dogs, being on the street, I get depressed.

It seems that I have lost something or someone, it seems that I am lost without a proper direction, it seems that the cold wants to conquer me again by penetrating me to my cells. The only thing that calms me down is playing the piano, some old French song or a German tango. I like to drink alone, a few glasses of red Bordeaux wine really put me in a trance state so I can feel a little better and forget for a few moments that I am an Iranian exiled by my own will.

I love persimmons, they remind me of my home in Manzarieh - Shemiran, where we used to eat them under the beautiful trees and enjoy them. I wrote these words last night...

Shemiran’s bright sun,
Persimmons glow on the branch,
Autumn’s sweet embrace.

Amber jewels hang low,
Whispers of ancient harvest,
Savor each soft bite.

Gentle mountain breeze,
Shemiran’s fruit-filled gardens,
Nature’s tender gift.

Paris, Autumn 2024.