A morning stroll

Nature. Nature is beauty. Nature is precious. Nature is perfection.

I was walking in the middle of nowhere. There were just trees, plants, birds and the sun. It was very calm, relaxing and purifying. I wished I could be surrounded by Nature all the time. I stopped walking and I saw a tree, a very high tree. It was beautiful. At that moment I felt connected to the world, I felt alive. I sat down near the tree and decided to watch the sunrise. Beautiful was the only word I could think of. I decided to draw the beauty I was seeing so I could show it to someone, but nothing could ever show the perfection of that view; I tried really hard, but it was just impossible.

The day was closing, and I was still sitting there, just watching the birds fly. I told myself to move and go home but it was useless, my body wouldn’t move. What will my parents say if I stay here for the night? That was the only thing worrying me.

Some hours had passed when I fell asleep. When I woke up, the sun was already going down.

I looked around. There was a very lovely fox near me. I was scared at first, but she was so friendly that I wanted to pet her. I gave her a name, Mila, a baby fox that turned into a friend.

It was already night and I needed to go home. How can I say goodbye to all of this? I was just sad. There was a question on my head: “Will I ever be able to feel alive again?”.

After some time, I walked home with Mila. This was the most beautiful moment I have ever had. I will miss you, Mila.

Ana Amaral

This is a wall a huge wall, a work of art made by a mysterious artist named Joe and that is the only thing we know about him.

Before all the bright colours, and cute drawings, this wall was plain white. So, in the middle of the night, nine years ago, Joe, as you may call him, started to paint.  He never reveals himself, so we do not know why he did it or what the drawing means. With that in mind a lot of people started questioning who he was, why that wall… Why in general.

We are used to the fact that when we don’t know the cause of something, we create conspiracy theories. So, these are the main two:

The first one explains how bad of a guy he was. People basically assumed that he was a kid who was probably not happy in his home and decided to mess with governmental propriety; just another kid with no respect and it should be doing community service. This is the one that everyone believes in. The other one is the real story, my story, my drawing, me Joe presenting myself after nine years of leaving my normal life.

It all started when I saw this kid on the ground crying. I walked towards him and asked him what was wrong, he said that two drunk adults had come over to him, had started talking with him and suddenly took the toys from him and ran. They took a panda, a plane but most importantly they took a plastic duck, which was his little sister’s duck. Even though it was nothing valuable, had a meaning. So, in protest I painted that wall to all the grown people who think that kids are irresponsible when, in fact, they may be the irresponsible ones. The wall represents the toys that were stolen but also the times when we were little, and no one would care about our problems. Now we are older, and we can change little things and do better than the ones before us did.

Beatriz Gomes

She remembered the first time it happened. She felt deeply scared, she thought she was dying. And she was. They diagnosed her with the Hanahaki Disease, a rare disease in which the victim coughs up and throws up flower petals from unrequited love. It can only be cured by either having their feelings returned or through surgery. The only catch is that the feelings and memories they have together and the patient’s ability to love, all disappear.  It often develops over months or even years, beginning with coughing up a few petals, until the victim is vomiting entire flowers, by which point the disease has entered its final stages, eventually leading to death.

She would go through the surgery if it was not for him whom she loved. They had known each other since they were babies and they have been friends ever since, being inseparable. She also believed it would be selfish of her to receive love one day, but not give it back.

Every time they were together, she prayed. She prayed intensely that the incessant beating in her chest whenever he was around did not mean that she actually loved him. That the weird feeling she felt on her chest and stomach whenever someone mentioned him, did not mean love.

It was not loving him that was causing her pain though, it was the simple fact that he did not love her the same way. Was it truly simple? No, not at all. But it was a fact. Do not get me wrong! He loved her a lot actually. Just as much as she loved him. But not in a romantic way, which she had grown to accept. Until she had flowers filling up her lungs, suffocating and slowly killing her, that is.

But just as she learned to live with the one-sided love, she also learned that that was exactly what love meant. True love is painful, and she would rather die than forget how it feels.

Catarina Andrade

National art

Being a national artist the owner of his work of art, wouldn’t it be a crime to judge his work without knowing him?

I do not know who said that the national arts are less noble. I believe that even the less talented national artists are artists themselves. An artist has every single right to create, publicize and even to be recognized for his artwork as he pleases, a national artist has as much right to be recognized for his artwork like Michelangelo or Donatello were.

It does not matter if their art is “strange” or doesn’t make any sense. It is obvious that these decisions are not in the hands of those who really care about art. These decisions are in the hands of the art’s layman, those who value only international art, for example, who think that Portuguese art is less valuable than foreign art around the world. The biggest problem here is that the people who think that are the Portuguese.

The nation needs to stop judging the concept of art or renaming a piece of art to give it a horrible title just to attract audiences. Art needs to be what it is, being it international or national. Just because we are a small country that doesn’t mean that Portuguese art is worse.

Carolina Silveira

She found him last. He appeared through an explosion of light and feathers, his bittersweet smell enclosing the air around them. His eyes, where stars and fire used to dance together in a glimpse of the harmony the world once saw, were empty, completely drained and lifeless. His skin, she felt, when touching his bruised shoulder, was cold, so cold the girl had to stop herself from backing away. His jaw was still clenched as she laid his head on her shoulder and stroke back his remarkably unusual and soft black air, pulling it away from his face. His face. A mask of grace and fury. The never fading beauty of a kind-hearted man who helped nations. Meanwhile, the world was a nightmare they could never wake up from. Outside, villages were being burned to the ground, innocent people were getting killed and the king was dead. Julian was everyone’s only hope. And deep down, even if he didn’t believe that, he knew it. He had in mind everyone fought, bared and survived the war just to see what he could do. A soft breeze. A wing rustle. Then, just like that, he was gone. I had not noticed I was crying. I could sense the bond between us almost scream at me, when I felt a gentle touch on my cheek and closed my eyes for a second. As if it was just a thing of my imagination, hadn’t I seen his lips move in my head, through our link, a gentle sound embraced my ears. ‐ Get ready. – The husky voice said. Suddenly, the world imploded.

Clara Monteiro

Our story begins with a rumour at Camões school. The rumour was that on the blue door on the picture you could hear an odd sound, almost like an engine, but it was only sometime after half past six pm.

So, on a tedious Friday, two students named Johnny and Chris decided to investigate that same room for curiosity’s sake, but they didn’t know they would regret that decision.

They waited for everyone to get out of the school, and when they were finally alone, they went down the stairs and opened the door. When they opened it, the sound stopped immediately. ‘Weird”, they thought, but still curious they entered. Suddenly the door closed with an enormous noise behind them. Chris screamed and started panicking, but Johnny tried to stay calm to protect them both in any case. Johnny soon found the switch and turned on the lights, and they were surrounded by saws and some tools, and from the corner they started hearing the sound again. At the corner they found a trap door, which they opened cautiously; and they saw it all. It was the genitor, violently cutting a girl in half with a chainsaw. Chris couldn’t hold it and screamed, which made the genitor see them and start running to catch them. They ran for their lives, and fortunately made it, they went home, and they tried to forget everything.

On the very next day both Johnny and Chris went missing…

The end.

David Realinho

Lilian, the traveller

Lilian was an English girl who loved to travel all over the world. She had a journalist background and reporting her travels on paper was really her biggest hobby. Lilian was tired of the atmosphere of London and she thought she needed to change cities.

So, in one of her adventures around the world, she came to Portugal, where she met the biggest attractions of the country: the center of Lisbon and fell in love with its beauty. She recorded on her camera all the places she has passed through. From Belém to Príncipe Real she visited many interesting places, but the place she liked the most was the area of Marquês de Pombal and all its surroundings. After exploring the city of Lisbon, Lilian realized that this was her favourite city in the world and this was where she would like to continue her career as a journalist. One day she decided to visit the building of Diário de Notícias, one of the largest newspapers in Portugal. There she could write her articles and show her talent to the population.

A few days later, the newspaper proposed her a deal: if she could organize a project which included photos and texts about the protection of environment. She had the task to sensitize as many people as possible. If that happened, the job would be hers.

And so it was. Lilian worked hard every day, collecting photos and information about the environment and environmental problems. The day of the project delivery came, and she felt she had given her heart and soul for it.

Lilian got the job and she had also sensitized a large part of the population to help make a change in the world! That was her greatest job ever.

Joana André

The haunted villa

Once upon a time there was this group of teenage friends who loved to explore new things and venture out. One day they found out a strange villa in the streets of Lisbon which was uninhabited.

They couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks; that villa was the only subject of conversation during that time. After one month of desperation and endless curiosity, they decided that they needed to go there again, but this time, they wanted to see more, they couldn’t wait to enter it.

The long-awaited day finally came, and all of them were extremely excited; however, they couldn’t even imagine what was coming. It all started when they were about to open the door of the villa… Surprise! The door was already openedhey thought that normal because that was an old villa. When they were all inside the villa, the door closed suddenly; but they thought that it was probably the wind. Soon after, they found some dirty and broken dishes, old clothes looking like school uniforms, children’s rooms with some vintage and odd toys, and a damaged television.

Things started to get even scarier; they started to hear echoes that sounded like laughter and cries at the same time, so they followed the sound, but it was all scattered around the villa, so they separated the group and each one went to different rooms and floors.

Some hours later, everything was quiet, all the group was gone, and not even one of them got out of the villa. Two days passed, and the police assumed the group of friends missing after checking every place including the villa without finding any clue.

To this day, the disappearance of the teenage group remains a mystery.

THE END

Joana Carvalhal

A beautiful woman called Mary was walking around the streets in Lisbon. She was brunette, had beautiful blue eyes, a small mouth, some well-designed cheeks and an unusual hair.

The lady was enchanted with so much beauty in only one city and after visiting museums, buildings, stores, street art and all that, she decided to learn a little bit more about the culture and the people of this beautiful city.

Mary started asking very different questions, such as, whether people liked their city or not, about the local gastronomy and so on. As she was a big art lover, she started asking questions about people’s favourite colours and obtained very different responses.

One cyclist said that his favourite colour was yellow because it reminded him of the sun and the sand. An old man chose the green colour as it made him feel hopeful and calm. A teenager girl liked purple very much, she said that it reminded her of her grandmother and their favourite flowers: violets. Her house has a lot of violets and she takes care of them every day. Two little girls preferred pink because they love everything about the pink world: ballet, princesses and marshmallows. When she arrived to Marquês de Pombal, she found a football fan that said that his favourite colour was red, since it reminded him of the emotions of when he is watching football with his father. They used to watch games together and enjoy happy moments. Finally, she found a skater who liked blue because he associated that colour with the beach and the sound of the ocean; it made him feel peaceful.

At the end of the day, the sunset was arriving and transforming the sky into orangey colours which led Mary to her childhood. When she was little, her mum used to read a lot of stories in front of the fireplace. Mary missed those moments.

Inspired by all these emotions associated with colours she decided to illustrate a wall that transmits all these feelings to other people.

Joana Costa

Snel Reizen

Mrs. Mirel Cohen was going mad. Five whole days spent working on the “Snel Reizen” train murder and nothing had come up. The witnesses were beyond useless, a bunch of high lords and high ladies that were too busy focusing on their own belly buttons to see anything else around. Nevertheless, the thing that frustrated her the most was not the lack of testimony, but the cause of death. The medical office had run it out as a simple heart attack. Mirel didn’t believe that. Mrs. Trinity Grant had entered the “Snel Reizen” a healthy man and left it in a body bag. “I gotta clear my head”, the young inspector thought while grabbing her coat and heading out. A few meters from her place of work was a small and quaint coffee shop where she could calm her mind and sort out her ideas. Slumping onto a chair upon her arrival and immediately ordering a beer while receiving a stink eye from the waitress due to her lack of greeting, Mirel’s eyes busied themselves in searching her surroundings. For a slight moment her heart stopped. Right there in the pastries showcase was an exact replica of the cake that had been found half eaten by Mr. Grant. Scrambling to get up, Mirel ran up to the waitress with wide eyes. Slipping a small photograph out of her pocket, and holding it up to the worker’s face, she asked: “Did this man purchase that sweet? “. Sacking her head and laughing with some sadness in her eyes the waitress replied: “Who? Mr. Trinity? No, that is impossible, he never ate any type of cake unless it was brought up to him by his wife. Not much of a sweet tooth that guy, ya know?”. Salivating for more answers Mirel was quick to reply: “And may I ask who his wife is?”. “Our main baker, of course!” – “ A bit of airhead if you ask me, the other day she was decorating one of her cakes with some extremely poisonous flowers, so  I said to her “ Miriam do ya know those could kill?” and she got very startled and said he would throw the cake out immediately”. “Flowers? Purple flowers? “. Purple flowers had been found in Mr. Trinity’s autopsy. “Hum-hum”, the waitress mumbled getting tired with all the questioning. It all started to make sense in Mirel’s head – the insane number of trips that Mr. Trinity undertook, the love letters that had been found in his suitcase, the young man was having an affair and his wife reacted quite badly to it. She had figured out. Now that all was left was to bring the culprit to justice.

Joana Roque

                                 My dog Lucky

There was a dog named Lucky. Lucky`s owner was an old man. The old man lived alone in his house. One day, the old man called an ambulance because he was having trouble breathing. Lucky barked very loudly at the ambulance workers when they took is buddy to the ambulance. Lucky tried to run after them when they drove to the Emergency Room, but he couldn`t keep up with the ambulance. When the old man went home after one week, he couldn`t find Lucky. Lucky was missing. He asked his neighbours if they had seen Lucky. But they have not seen Lucky. One day he went to the park. He saw a lost and found picture of a dog attached to a tree. And it was Lucky.

João Lopes

My favourite park

That was my favourite park since I was a little kid. I used to go there almost every day. Some of my favourite childhood memories were made there. My mom works nearby and when I was young, I needed to go to work with her, because I couldn’t stay home alone. As I grew up, I stopped going there like all the other kids.

I was taught how to ride a bike by a little boy that has now become one of my best friends; his name is Gonçalo and every time we ride a bike, we remember this episode, or better, these episodes.

I also remember my first fallen tooth, which fell while I was on the swing.

Nowadays, I still hang out with a friend that I made there; her name is Maria Marta and she is my best friend, and since we have been friends for a long time, we basically do everything together, even though we are not at the same school.

I loved this school trip because it made me remember all the good memories I have of this park; I even sent Maria Marta and Gonçalo a photo of the park and they got very nostalgic. Thank you, teacher, for bringing me here!

Laura Bawden

It felt like spring already, the trees were filled with baby flowers in shades of violet and blue.

Elio, tall and shrewd, had long hair and eyes darker than the night. He remembered me of Zeus. He came back to Lisbon after ten long years living in the beautiful lands of Italy. Although he used to spend more springs in Italy than in his homeland, for him, time did not take the deep connection he felt for the city.

Elio, had been in the city for a week now; he had already gone to his favourite places in town, like Graça´s sightseeing, which, in his opinion, was a fabulous place to read;  the sidewalk of Algés, which is close to the river  where he could think deeply about important things in life .However, there was a place that he did not know yet – a narrow street full of pink little flowers that covered the walls of the old and damaged houses. In that same street there lived a very old lady that was called Dona Flor, – it was not her birth name but she felt that it was the right one for her – she had white hair just like snow, quite opposite to her face which was brighter than the sun, it showed a life of hard work.

Elio walked towards the beautiful, detailed window where Dona Flor spent the most part of her days sitting, only watching the sky, the trees and the flowers that surrounded that lonely window. The young boy came close to the window screaming, a lovely but strong scream. Dona Flor opened the window, grumpy. At that moment she realised who was calling her, she uttered words of joy and astonishment. They were good old friends. The boy had always kept her company, and she could not describe how much she had missed him. He stood there by her side going through the good old days and planning the rest of their lives together as one.

Leonor Chicó

The orphan Caleb

Once upon a time, in a very distant country, a boy named Caleb was born. His parents were both police officers but had always loved art. Ever since Caleb was a baby, they took him to a lot of exhibitions and to see plenty of street pieces of art.

Although they had quite a lot of hobbies, work was always their priority. Being a police officer has its perks but it can also be very dangerous. Unfortunately, they both died as they were recruited to a hard mission. Caleb was only five and as he had no family he was taken into various foster homes. Even though the foster parents tried their best to welcome him, he still missed his true parents very much and was really depressed. We all have different coping mechanisms to deal with emotional pain, and his was doing graffiti as he felt he was honouring his parents. Don’t get me wrong, Caleb was well mannered and not even once he disrespected his foster parents, he just never had the connection he had with his biological parents.

Caleb grew up, and as a way to thank all the families he’s ever been with and his actual family, he painted meaningful graffiti all around the world, each inspired by his loved one.

Maria Gomes

Art

In one of our previous classes we went on a field trip. The teacher asked us to take pictures of things that we thought would be interesting to make this project. In the beginning I wasn’t excited about the trip, mainly because I had not explored the surroundings of our school yet. Even though we saw a lot of different things that could be inspirational or could give us ideas on what to write, nothing had “caught my eye” until I saw this street art/graffiti.

So, my project is going to be about my favorite art works.

Ever since I was little I was always surrounded by different types of art, so I have developed an interest in this matter. I really enjoy going to exhibitions and I love to see artwork as well.

My favorite street artist is Banksy. He lives in England and he is a street artist and political activist and also a film director. He’s one of my biggest inspirations because he criticizes society, the government, among other things, in such an ironic way that makes him really unique. My favorite work of his is either the ‘Well hung lover’ or the ‘Balloon girl’.

If I had to choose one art style, I would pick either Surrealism or Pop art.

I consider ‘The birth of Venus‘ a masterpiece and the “perfect“ piece.

Mariana Furtado

Street art

Is Street art considered graffiti? I think that street art is not graffiti; it’s a type of art that can be visual and created in public locations where everyone can look at it whether you like it and think it’s beautiful or you hate it and think it’s horrible. In my opinion, street art is something interesting and different. Imagine a lonely street or a wall with nothing on it but tiles. If you put some art on it, the whole wall becomes much more interesting.

Street art is also good for teenagers because instead of being outside doing things that are not safe and are disturbing you are doing something new, creative and expressing yourself and your feelings.

So, in my opinion, street art is not graffiti or vandalism and is in fact a creative and cool type of art.

Matilde Almeida

I have been here since the beginning. I remember the day when life came to this planet. I created it.

When the world was built, I was in charge of making life. I was the only thing this place had ever seen, and it was pretty isolating. I realized I could create other things, other forms of life, but they would die so much faster than I could ever imagine.

With time I learned how to create creatures that would last longer, but as everything, my power had limits. I could not make a soul to stand by my side. So, I gave up. Since I realized that I would spend the rest of eternity alone I sat and watched the world I created develop. By pulling some strings, I changed my original creations and without realizing it, I ended up making the whole “evolution theory” true, as humans called it.

Oh, humans. Those amazingly interesting living beings. I saw them evolve from cavemen to the creatures you can see today, but I have to say that they have disappointed me. Their greed scares me and the way they managed to kill many of my creations infuriates me. When I gave up trying, I hid in a huge tree for years. What was once a green leaf-full tree, is now a yellow and bald fragile plant. What can possibly be my greatest invention, may also be the end of the rest of everyone else’s.

I am tired of my “life” and so I gave myself a limit. When my home dies, I shall die too. Maybe someday the new generation of humans will stop the massacre, but I will not be here. One day I shall say goodbye to this world and when that day comes, I know I will be missed.

Patrícia Cardoso

I have seen thousands of faces walk past through me. I have been this wall since you exist here, and essence is the key. I have seen society evolving and I have seen this world fall apart throughout the years. I have known faces that have disappeared in time. The ambience surrounding me makes it hard to think. I can barely breathe, the daylight hits me hard every day, all day. The fog coming from the pollution makes it hard to see. I have witnessed thousands of conversations and dialogues; “What do you want? What do you need?”, “climate change will never get in”. People painted on me, over the graffiti to hide the shame or truthful quotes, to create a positive mark upon these streets, but it never made any sense, you see, because, actions are what matter the most, and honestly, I have not noticed any change. It is our loss, and our thing, so let’s get moving, come up with a solution. Our destiny is in our hands, and we are 100% of our future. So, go now, go and begin your life of fear. Grow out of it or make a difference in everyone’s lives, or someone else will.

Pedro Lourenço

Sunday Morning

All days of the week have occupied mornings – waking up with that horrific alarm sound, swallowing your breakfast, heading to your appointments of the day, and getting exhausted of that same unpredictable and repetitive routine.

But there is always that day that we get to escape from our realities. A day when we let the course of the universe guide us through it. And that specific da, is the one that recharges our soul for a whole new fresh six.

And that day to this story is a Sunday.

I woke up at an undefined and indifferent time that Sunday morning. The sun felt light and warm through my thin white curtains. Not so strong that could hurt my sleepy eyes when I opened them, but the perfect lighting, like the day was expecting me to start enjoying it.

As I passed through a mirror, I analysed what my hair looked like after a good night sleep, with no worries and anxieties of the next morning. It is funny how when you are not expected to be presentable or socialize, your hair seems to be just the way it pleases you. Looking at my bedside table, I see a book I have procrastinated for months to actually sit down and swallow it up. So, I decided to take it to a close by patisserie and get some coffee.

I put my head out the window to see what the weather felt like. It was warm. Not middle summer warm. Just a sunny warm, blue skies with a light breeze. An end of May breeze.  I chose a comfortable dress. I would usually feel insecure to my very core to use on any type of social event that would require communication to other humans. But I chose it anyway.

Getting a table there, digesting the coffee for about an hour while reading the book. Today it’s just me, my book, my coffee. God. I wish everyday was a Sunday morning.

Raphaela Nunes

Dear Mum,

I hope that you are well, genuinely well wherever you are.

Since you have gone, it has not been easy, but I want to say, thank you. Thank you for the magical moments we have been through together. I will never forget them… even though my heart broke into a million pieces when you left.

Well, I decided to write you this letter because when I was walking to the city yesterday I found myself walking to that little park where you used to take me when I was little and you were still around… It reminded me of you and for a moment there I was not mad at you for leaving us. Why?

In the park there were a mother and a daughter that reminded me of you.  It prompted the way you would swing me and how it would make me feel like the weight of the world was not on my shoulders anymore, and how the wonderful feeling of the gentle breeze on my face felt like, or when I tried to climb trees and you would always make me feel safe enough not to even be afraid to fall since I knew you would catch me or how it felt amazing to me to be able to hug you after going down the slide.

Do you still wonder about me as I wonder about you? I am not seven years old anymore, and I am not still sitting on my bed every night asking my sister when mommy is coming home. And it is not like I am still asking myself why I was not good enough to make you stay. Why have you not even come to my birthday party or sent me a damn card on my birthday if you always had my address?

Ria Reker

It had been in that fountain. The classes had just started, and I had stopped to drink water because I had just finished a physical education lesson. I was so tired that I had to stop at that place to drink some water.

What that stop would cause was unbelievable.  Behind me there was the prettiest girl that I had ever seen.

I had just gone to the park where the fountain was, I was looking at the phone when she bumped into me. She apologized with a shy smile, I apologised too and she walked away. I called her and asked her name. She said that her name was Alice and since then we have never stopped talking. And all because of a fountain.

We are dating now; I have never been so happy with a girl. Do you know that feeling that you cannot explain?  That is what I was feeling.

Sometimes small things turn into big things, and without any doubt I have met the girl of my dreams.

Conclusion, don´t try to hurry up love, I mean, if you wait, you will find your love even if it takes long. In love, patience is everything.

Rodrigo Costa

There was a girl named Thea who was always feeling useless.

All her life she wanted to be special, useful and famous. Instead of encouraging her, her friends and family kept saying that “she was nothing” and so Thea never had the courage to take a chance.

But one day someone saw that she was sad and went talk to her. She explained what was happening and that person said, “you can be better, you just have to be brave to do so”.

She kept thinking of something to do for days until she thought of something that would make her famous: make a giant painting on a giant wall in a populated street. And so, she started planning it. She hired some workers to do so and made a drawing of what she wanted them to do.

When it was done, it was so incredible that the whole city went there to take pictures and admire it.

She became famous, happy, got a life, true friends, created a family, became a grandmother, and finally, after 70 years, she knew her time was about to come, and thought about everything that she had accomplished with just one painting. She had never been happier and prouder in her life…

Tomás Costa

The Fall

Fall is the time of year when the days get shorter, the leaves fall, we wear warmer clothes, we can stay at home watching movies with our family, take some pictures to put in our Instagram feed (I know a lot of girls do it but I don´t), or walk aimlessly to the sound of indie music (ok, I’m probably  dreaming a little, but I’d really like to walk around with my jacket on and earphones)

We also have two types of weather: it can rain, or shine depending on the day.

I really like the fact that we have rain and sunshine in the fall, but due to the climate change, things are a little out of control. We have more rainy days than “beautiful days” (although I like these days much because they give such a warm vibe that it looks like it’s already winter), but it’s always better than a drought.

Autumn is also that season that adapts to people´s different tastes. Everything is so beautiful, it’s hard not to like this season: the chestnuts (who does not like them) on St. Martin’s Day, Halloween (in my opinion is the best time of the year, but here in Portugal people do not take it seriously …). From the fog on the windows to the colors of Fall, it is just amazing!

But what I really enjoy about this season is fashion!!

I think people do their best to find a beautiful and comfortable look to spend their days. The most used colors are usually red, yellow, brown, beige … neutral colors.

For me the best collections of the year are in the fall! Not to mention that the sales are after Christmas (and I love to go shopping), but that doesn’t matter much right now.

I think you can realize that I really like cold weather and this season more specially.

Vitória Ferreira