Equinoxically Yours
Jazz of autumn.
Spiced.
Balanced precariously; half day, half night. Poised, we plunge into the turning season, bound for the coming night of winter bright.
Blue sky. Indian Summer. Berry pie.
Yellow Birch leaves trickle down. One. By. One. By. One.
Sparrows assemble on power lines ready to soaaaar round the curve of the earth. Flying on, and on, and on, until Af-ri-ca.
Crisp new school starting stationery, reading lists, Gatsbys and politics. Crackling frosty mornings, winter clad in woollen layers. Wood smoke on the night air.
Cackling geese, trailing above, circling, circling, alighting and circling.
Stocking up for winter.
Hibernation.
A temptation.
At any age.
Spiced.
Balanced precariously; half day, half night. Poised, we plunge into the turning season, bound for the coming night of winter bright.
Blue sky. Indian Summer. Berry pie.
Yellow Birch leaves trickle down. One. By. One. By. One.
Sparrows assemble on power lines ready to soaaaar round the curve of the earth. Flying on, and on, and on, until Af-ri-ca.
Crisp new school starting stationery, reading lists, Gatsbys and politics. Crackling frosty mornings, winter clad in woollen layers. Wood smoke on the night air.
Cackling geese, trailing above, circling, circling, alighting and circling.
Stocking up for winter.
Hibernation.
A temptation.
At any age.
(This was my response to a Micro Bookends flash fiction weekly challenge - which asked for a piece of short writing that had Jazz as its first word, and Age as its last. I was delighted to get an honorable mention for this piece - you can see the judge's comments here.
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