Fallen leaves

photography of trees near river during fall

Photo by Alexandra Shchelkunova on Pexels.com

This year it may have arrived late, but now, it is here. The time of the year when shadows play tricks, shallow shapes appear, as if conjured up by a malicious genie, and then disappear, erased. This lovely vision may not be real, those blond hair, flying in the light wind, are not what they seem: as I got nearer, anxious to see the face, it’s nowhere, it’s just me, and some hidden gnome, invisible, yet present, and I think, laughing silently. The light is low, diffused, under the trees one does not recognise anything, cannot see through the light mist: I see you, but is it you? Or an ancient witch pretending to be you?

The waters of the canal reflect a deep green that doesn’t not come from the sky, but from an elsewhere, a deep, unfathomable to us, humans. We lost the skill to see this light, but was it ever a skill, or rather, a right? Gold and brown, grey and a colour which is undefined, a wavelength our eyes don’t capture. Dark knights ride in the clouds, bearing runes that may signal our end, our dismissal from what is, still, paradise. I feel small, in a world that, for now, and the next few months, no longer smiles at me. Those ghosts are not my friends, they merely remind me that life is short.

And Winter is coming.

Frozen #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

frozen

 

“I know where we are, we walked this path many times. Was it yesterday? It was summer still, and yet you see: today the ground is hard frozen, how can this be? ”

“My love, you are confused. We’ve travelled a long time, this place is not that you recognise, we are far away from home, a long way away from summer…”

“What are you telling me? Are we lost? How can we be now in winter?”

“We have to rest. You see, we have what it takes to survive, this far North, and we must keep warm.”

Snowfall #writephoto

Snowfall

chatsworth-snow-11

 

“Don’t get too close!”

“What do you mean? Do you think I could wake him up? It’s a rock, just a big ‘un! Relax!”

The snow continues falling, nothing moves, bar the flakes in the light wind. I know it’s not a rock, I know what’s there, and I don’t want to risk it. But this friend of mine is too cheeky. This could turn out pretty bad.

“I’m not leaving without touching it!” She really wants to tease me. “Come on! Let’s pull its tail!”

And she starts walking, toward the trees, toward it. It.

I see her standing there, in her big coat, pretty, rosy cheeks, her blond hair catching the snow.

“Hey! Look! It’s not moving!”

I sigh. She’s not the first one to do this. But now, it is moving, not the big mass, but the ground around it. I can see, I feel the light vibrations, something deep is fluttering, just a small tremor.

“Come back please, I am getting cold…”

“You’re just such a coward, you are!” She laughs.

She looks so young, her clear voice resonates in my ears, soon a murmur, as she slowly disappears in the frozen ground. A soft motion, silent, as I watch, petrified , and the snow continues falling.

In the Pale Light of Winter #fivewords

Weekly Writing Prompt #175

rypgos

charcoal, shade, pale, wake, lucid

The rain fell, almost silent, but she could hear the little stream, outside, through the open window. She called the instant the lucid wake: those minutes before the first signs of the pale dawn. Then, everything is clear, the events of the past days in sharp relief, as if lit from inside. His smile, the fire on the beach, the shade under the pine trees, the smell of charcoal. But this wasn’t yesterday, it was years ago, her already distant past. And then it had been Summer…

Then the wine had tasted better, the air cleaner, the waves softer. His skin was like the sun itself. Where was he now? The lucid wake: she was alone, all fires long dead.

She could hear the little stream. Winter would end, another Spring would come.

 

Image source: https://wallpapersafari.com/winter-beach-scenes-wallpaper/

Onward #writephoto

Onward

p1460213-2

 

We stop at the top of the small hill, and look down at the road meandering away from us. The bikes lie on the short grass, next to tall poles that remind us that, here, the snow can erase everything, and level the landscape, but we are too early for it. The air is cold, the pale rays of the winter sun lit the distant crags. Soon the night will fall. We set the tent not far from here, and lit a fire. Tomorrow is another day.

Turning #writephoto

Turning

hills

 

Yesterday… We walked in this valley, under the burning sun, hand in hand, believing in the eternal summer. Yesterday, perhaps, more than you, my love, I longed for Autumn, and the fall of leaves. Did I believe Time had stopped? Did I believe Earth was flat, after all?

Or was I inebriated, drunk in our love?

But now, Winter has come, silent, ineluctable: the hills are white with snow, our shoes leave no trace on the frozen ground. Nature has taken back what is hers, the air is cold, yesterday’s azure sky is now deep grey.

The light is out.

Turrets #writephoto

Turrets

pinnacle

 

When we left – how long ago was it? – it was summer. As we look over the tall trees, disappearing through the dark, icy air, we know that, here, wherever “here” is, it’s winter. But we don’t feel the cold, we just know it is.

Through the foliage covered with snow, the vision of a dream-like castle, its spires and turrets, appears, emerging from the mist. Is it a dream, or a nightmare? Are we lost, have we taken the wrong turn, on whatever road we followed?

Are we elsewhere? When did we leave the warmth and light of our city? This world is grey, and, now, we cannot guess what horrors await us.

Magic #writephoto

Magic

leafless

 

“So much light,” you said, “and here is the path, just across the little stream, do you remember?”

I do remember, we walked there, many times, you and me, when we were kids, and later. In all seasons, in winter like this, with sunlight filtering through the trees, reflecting on the snow, our hands in mittens, in spring, our hearts feeling the change in the air, the sounds of birds, and in the long summer evenings…

But it’s late autumn I remember most, the late season when the wind gets colder, when dark clouds gather above the forest. And then, that year…

And then winter was with us, so fast, and one late afternoon, just like this, you kissed me. You did, and I was taken aback, perhaps even a little frightened. Your golden hair, your red lips… It was there, near the stream, never had I had felt such fire in my soul…

We are old now. The fire still burns in our hearts. The forest is still there, and the sun, reflected on the snow.  We walk, hand in hand, listening to the light noises of nature falling asleep.