#wtlf

the leaves start to golden, falling to the whims of the wind. oscar looks at the old buildings in front of him, their history settling deep in his bones, his heart hammering against his ribcage - loud, only for him. silence settles around him, strangely - he sees souls passing by, but can't make out any noise from them. the silence might be in his ears, in his mind - in how heavy his heart feels. everything is about to change. everything changed, already, to be fair - but today is a new step he wasn't sure would really happen. and yet.

we are dreaming of tomorrow and tomorrow isn't coming, we are dreaming of a glory that we don't really want, we are dreaming of a new day when the new day's here already, we are running from the battle when it's one that must be fought, and still we sleep.

loud laughs in the hallways, reverberating on the walls, warm melody heard by all. friends running and cursing and screaming. orange sunset, half hidden by the hill. two boys sitting against the archways, stealing glances behind their books, smiling at each other when their eyes cross. closed-world, where the rules are their own, where everything is different, where it's so easy to forget about the obligations they were born with and the pressure that lays heavy their shoulders.

we are listening for the calling, but never really heeding, hoping for the future when the future's only plans, dreaming of the wisdom that we are dodging daily, praying for a savoir when salvation's in our hands, and still we sleep.

clifton academy, bristol. they all go there - children of the aristocracy, golden spoon in their mouth, a different kind of light in their irides. they all go there - old money, new money, the ones that will one day rule the world. they're just kids - not really, not even teenagers anymore. young adults, everything possible under their grasp, even if they don't fully realise it yet. everything seems idiyllic, in-between the red bricks history has assembled. kigdoms are built, alliances are sealed, and friendships are never forgotten.

and still we sleep, and still we pray, and still we fear. and still we sleep.

— poem by ted anderson, dead poets society.

the leaves start to golden, falling to the whims of the wind. oscar looks at the old buildings in front of him, their history settling deep in his bones, his heart hammering against his ribcage - loud, only for him. silence settles around him, strangely - he sees souls passing by, but can't make out any noise from them. the silence might be in his ears, in his mind - in how heavy his heart feels. everything is about to change. everything changed, already, to be fair - but today is a new step he wasn't sure would really happen. and yet.

we are dreaming of tomorrow and tomorrow isn't coming, we are dreaming of a glory that we don't really want, we are dreaming of a new day when the new day's here already, we are running from the battle when it's one that must be fought, and still we sleep.

loud laughs in the hallways, reverberating on the walls, warm melody heard by all. friends running and cursing and screaming. orange sunset, half hidden by the hill. two boys sitting against the archways, stealing glances behind their books, smiling at each other when their eyes cross. closed-world, where the rules are their own, where everything is different, where it's so easy to forget about the obligations they were born with and the pressure that lays heavy their shoulders.

we are listening for the calling, but never really heeding, hoping for the future when the future's only plans, dreaming of the wisdom that we are dodging daily, praying for a savoir when salvation's in our hands, and still we sleep.

clifton academy, bristol. they all go there - children of the aristocracy, golden spoon in their mouth, a different kind of light in their irides. they all go there - old money, new money, the ones that will one day rule the world. they're just kids - not really, not even teenagers anymore. young adults, everything possible under their grasp, even if they don't fully realise it yet. everything seems idiyllic, in-between the red bricks history has assembled. kigdoms are built, alliances are sealed, and friendships are never forgotten.

and still we sleep, and still we pray, and still we fear. and still we sleep.

— poem by ted anderson, dead poets society.

Words by Cleiton Campos

Photography by Ricardo Lima

A full page illustration for Where the Leaves Fall magazine. 

The illustration follows the thoughts of a mother on bringing a child into climate crisis.

…How do I tell my son about the climate crisis without frightening him? First, I think, I must show him how to love nature. I must help him connect with and respect everything on the planet - human, animal or plant.”

Natasha talking about choices at this point is anti-climactic. We know what Natasha chooses, and it transcends the Red Room. We know who Nat is. Because we watched her jump off a cliff to give her team a chance to save the universe.

Also, one of the big emotional thrusts of Nat's arc is that as she said 'I use to have nothing...' Oh wait, never mind, she actually had another family! Maybe she did not want to speak of her other family to the Avengers, but the movie really hit on the emotional meaning of the Avengers to Nat, and there's a mismatch her.

But, Endgame's writers did not know a Black Widow movie would exist!