Autumn Love
The air smells of fading warmth, of coming cold, of growing things and dry rot.
It smells like autumn.
You know the scent. That smell that reminds you of every glorious fall day you ever experienced. When the air was the perfect temperature. When the wind blew just right through the dry and thinning leaves.
When you knew that now was the only thing that mattered.
I fall in love on days like this.
The wind tosses long auburn hair, ruffles the short strands of yellow and gold, or tugs at caught locks of black. Scarves and skirts, coats and shirts, the confused and clashing dress of a day to cold for one, to warm for the other.
I watch the wind pull and play at all of it.
The wind, the kind of wind that tells of the storm that will never come, but makes you look for it anyway, rises and falls to a cadence all the world knows. It is the song of change, of transition, of the passing of a season, the birth of the next.
The world is full of color.
The grass is still the verdant green of summer. The leaves have succumbed to the golds and umbers, the browns and reds of autumn. The people flash past in darker shades, the lighter, brighter, vibrant colors packed away till the suns waning warmth waxes strong again. Rouge dances in the pale cheeks of fading tans and bundled flesh, partially caused by the winds mild chill, part to the exertion of being out and being alive.
I fall in love on days like this.
Everywhere I look I catch a glimpse of twinkling eyes, of quick pink smiles, of waving hair in every natural, and some few unnatural, shades. Under the last bright rays before winters dark, beneath the constant rush and bluster of autumn winds, every face I see is beautiful. I fall in love with every one of them. For one brief moment my heart is theirs, a brimming vessel filled with the half imagined memory of every lost autumn day. A piece of my soul wrapped in a gilded past and offered to every passerby.
I get my heart broken on days like this.
For every bright face that appears, for every offering of my heart, for every moment of perfect beauty the autumn wind pushes gently past me, leaves me deprived and alone. For a moment my heart is shattered. For an instant my soul is holed. For one terrible eternity I am hurt again by the rejection of autumn love.
And then the moment is gone, and I fall in love all over again with the next passing form.
The wind carries the scent of life and death, of beauty and loss, of transition. Every face bears the hope of new love and the pain of fresh loss. Every moment is beautiful and bittersweet and perfect.
I get my heart broken on days like this.
But its worth it every time.
The air smells of fading warmth, of coming cold, of growing things and dry rot.
It smells like autumn.
You know the scent. That smell that reminds you of every glorious fall day you ever experienced. When the air was the perfect temperature. When the wind blew just right through the dry and thinning leaves.
When you knew that now was the only thing that mattered.
I fall in love on days like this.
The wind tosses long auburn hair, ruffles the short strands of yellow and gold, or tugs at caught locks of black. Scarves and skirts, coats and shirts, the confused and clashing dress of a day to cold for one, to warm for the other.
I watch the wind pull and play at all of it.
The wind, the kind of wind that tells of the storm that will never come, but makes you look for it anyway, rises and falls to a cadence all the world knows. It is the song of change, of transition, of the passing of a season, the birth of the next.
The world is full of color.
The grass is still the verdant green of summer. The leaves have succumbed to the golds and umbers, the browns and reds of autumn. The people flash past in darker shades, the lighter, brighter, vibrant colors packed away till the suns waning warmth waxes strong again. Rouge dances in the pale cheeks of fading tans and bundled flesh, partially caused by the winds mild chill, part to the exertion of being out and being alive.
I fall in love on days like this.
Everywhere I look I catch a glimpse of twinkling eyes, of quick pink smiles, of waving hair in every natural, and some few unnatural, shades. Under the last bright rays before winters dark, beneath the constant rush and bluster of autumn winds, every face I see is beautiful. I fall in love with every one of them. For one brief moment my heart is theirs, a brimming vessel filled with the half imagined memory of every lost autumn day. A piece of my soul wrapped in a gilded past and offered to every passerby.
I get my heart broken on days like this.
For every bright face that appears, for every offering of my heart, for every moment of perfect beauty the autumn wind pushes gently past me, leaves me deprived and alone. For a moment my heart is shattered. For an instant my soul is holed. For one terrible eternity I am hurt again by the rejection of autumn love.
And then the moment is gone, and I fall in love all over again with the next passing form.
The wind carries the scent of life and death, of beauty and loss, of transition. Every face bears the hope of new love and the pain of fresh loss. Every moment is beautiful and bittersweet and perfect.
I get my heart broken on days like this.
But its worth it every time.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
flux:
unfortunately, my phone line to the crypt of Science Fiction Masters is dead, or else i'd ring the man up and ask you. beats the fuck out of me, but i understand and sympathize with the frustration.
mrsmead:
see the hellboy trailer yet?