Crisp Autumn Day
crisp Autumn day
a burnt umber shawl
wrapped in the arms
of the errant
I fall in love
hope is recovered
with the retiring sun
From the Wisp
Bara left the park and crossed Main Mall, a street of banks and a market. A rounded corner found the south entrance to Windfall Way. It was one of the town’s original streets and wasn’t much wider than a lane of traffic. Four hundred years ago this worked just fine for horse and carriage, but today’s large SUV’s would have taken out the potted plants and store signs hanging out into the Way. Now it was pedestrians only. Antique and curio shops dominated the lane. There were also two restaurants, French and Italian; a flower shop; a bakery; and the Tragic Sip Café, where without a doubt, they served the best coffee and croissants on the planet.
Windfall stopped way passed too-much when decorating for seasons and holidays. Strings of fall leaves and pumpkins filled every window. There were even a few black cats, skeletons, and other left-over Halloween ornaments. Bara smiled at the festive air and made her way down the cobbles and to the Tragic Sip. The Goths were already at the café. They occupied two patio tables. For these girls, Halloween never ended. Under the bright fall sunlight, their pale faces glowed a healthy—if chalky—pink. They were quivering with excitement, not the usual state of being for this gloomy group. Bara listened in as she passed.
“He’s so gorgeous,” Drusilla, not the name her mother gave her, Barnaby drawled.
Vixen Rose, born Vivian Rothby, challenged back, “I saw him first.”
“Vinally a guy wert even tinking about in tis tupid town,” lisped a purple-haired girl through a false set of vampire teeth.
They were obviously not elocution class approved. Bara fought back a giggle.
“And his accent.” Drusilla chimed in her clear and fangless alto. “One thing for sure. We’re all going to need a lot more coffee.”
“I want a little more than coffee from him,” Vixen countered.
What kind of guy could get the Goths all a flutter? Images of tattoos and rings hanging from each and every orifice came to mind. Bara would see Mr. Dreadfully Wonderful for herself. She headed for the café door but then stopped in her tracks.
Turn of Season
turn of the season
downshift of light
green to red
the wait bearable
falling leaves
crisp breezes
autumn sunsets
dark optimism
***
Words and Poetry are my own. Images unless otherwise attributed are a collaboration between me and AI, Grok. They should be viewed visual haiku, in that they contain symbolism. The concepts are my own creation and the rendering AI. Keep drawing and painting. AI cannot replace your hard work and excellence. Crisp Autumn Day and Turn of the Season were most recently and first published on X social media platform. All titles below, including the Wisp and represent lengthier works. are available in paperback or digital through amazon and your local libraries and bookstores. Click on any title below to further explore and support my writing.