Short Stories

To Autumn

The early evening sky was a riot of the colours cast from the raindrops that fell earlier that day, causing the clouds to be illuminated and the sky to be bright compared to gloomy skies of the afternoon. The bright and refreshed atmosphere was tinted with pinks and gold.

In the distance gold sun glazed clouds cascaded like waves that crept onto the sands. The baby pinks that lined where the feather like clouds and the cobalt sky met stood out like an oil spill in a puddle and the streams of gold and pink were ripples set within silk.

Autumn. Skeleton trees; children jumped around in the leaf piles that were explosions of browns and yellows; scrunching noises as each leaf broke sounded like the crackle of a fire. They laughed at the joy they felt when spending time with their friends, my little Autumn being one of them. They loved being close to the nature that surrounded them.

The connection she had to nature made it possible for you to see beauty in the barest times; when trees were bare and flowers were rare.

Now my Autumn's gone.

The greens of the vegetation glistened after the rainfall refreshed it with a new lease of life. Shades of green from basil to pine made the children aware of the variations in nature. The arylide yellow leaves from this autumn haze littered the floor like a blanket upon her knees, standing out against this new lifeline as they had finished their vocation. As each leaf fell I remember how she would laugh at the crackle as each crisp leaf crumbled underfoot, yet she knew as each one fell the tree would rebloom.

She used to love the smell of cinnamon as she sat by the fire snuggled under a blanket in the cool atmosphere, feeling vulnerable to the weather but feeling warmed from the flames giving off heat by her toes.

She loved to walk out alone at that time of year, feeling the pinecones crunch underfoot, and I remember that she enjoyed toasting chestnuts with her friends. Yet she wasn't as strong as the trees which were exposed to the unpredictable conditions. She was fragile like the leaves. She was upset and was always torn apart by situations she created in her head, she was always helping others and not looking out for herself.

It was one autumn day when we lost her. She went out for a walk, to collect pinecones so she could decorate them but she never returned and when we came across her it was too late, she lay bloody from blades that decorated her skin. He got sent down... but that never brought her back...

This one is to you Autumn, for the leaves are the tears we shed for you.

Autumn turned to winter, snow layered the ground, leaving the surrounding land blank. Frost clung to trees like she used to clutch my hand, and all that was once beautiful became cold and lifeless. Winter was a shower of snowflakes that fell on your nose, the trees standing out dark against the white snow. No colours; no meaning. The situation was black and white. Autumn would be how I described her but if I was to describe how I felt, winter would definitely match.

Not the winter of Christmas and spending time with family. Not the winter of sitting around the table with the ones you love, to sit opening presents neatly wrapped when you are so used to see the paper patched up with cello tape after many attempts, never seeing another decorated tag which most people take for granted now. Not the winter of cosy fires and glittering gifts. The tree would be strung with lights and baubles, home made from each new year, a new picture but this is no longer the winter of comfort and joy. Just a chasm of loss. That cannot be replaced... or renewed.

Thought I'd share this piece I wrote in 2015/2016, I know it needs improvement but I like referring to it.