THE AUTUMN TURN

Autumn.

So vivid.

The air cool and crisp.

As Papa's grapevines dry up and the Oak grows dormant.
Leaves pitted and jaded as the hillside is littered with dates.

Francine darts across the wooden bridge on her old fashioned bicycle--two pumpkins in each side basket. Off to the left--a sidestreet where a grandmother rakes the leaves into piles on the lawn. The dusk begins to settle into ticker particles of blackness, while autos on the main road turn their headlamps on. Handmade candles of tallow, burning smooth inside the windows, just beyond carved pumpkins with scary faces which sit outdoors. A group of people, some wearing caps and all of them in jackets huddling close to an outside grill, roasting marshmallows ad gulping warm cider.

Off to the right--a sidestreet where a grandfather dangles his leash fastened to "Ming"--his Chiuaua, while Grandma's left arm is sashayed through his right. Their misty breath shows up as smoke dissipating into the night air as they pause in the cul-de-sac. Porch lights appear below bedroom windows where silent whispers adorn their interiors, and fireplaces burn with an orange and yellow crackle.

Night.

So vivid.

Air crisp and cool.

In the Autumn turn.

Copyright (c) 2005 by Michael Manning.