My sun filled mornings gone
Dark grey fingers roll clouds forth
There’s a chill in the air
Sweet summer humidity now dampness
Big fluffy white now slate flat blankets
She comes to drain the green
My trees will bleed out on rainbows
Biting winds will strip them clean
In a slow methodically planned assault
The final warmth will leave this world
By a cold touch the world will fall asleep
Resting to re-emerge in some sunny day
This is November. A time when plants get dug up to stored for next year. In six months, I’ll drag them out and plant then again. But my beloved dahlias are half gone. Below you see the bulbs at the bottom of the plants. When the green has died off they get trimmed to bulbs and dried out. Hiding them in a dry dimly lite space until the green leaves start to grow.
Some are still blooming. But the orange one in its hey day seen below, is done. Above sits it’s bulbs stripped of this year.
The morning chill goes deeper.
The dew is heavy suffocating life.
The hollow landscape comes out of shadows
The sky is a shadow.
The Sun lost in it way across the sky.
The green is now grey.
The grey will turn white.
The month of chill has taken us.
Frosty morning meets warm water.
Reds and yellows reflect on the end.
The cold kills off last of the blooms.
The season of the witch has returned.
The frost bit back at the land. The tender plants start to curl. Flower petals become painted in spots. The wind speaks in a trembling voice through the trees. The worlds overlap for a few days.
Looking across the lake, mist dances across the surface. The paintbrush of nature gives green a splash of color. Birds call out in the trees. Their calls come quick, rapid beats. The air grows tense. People seem indifferent.
Vivian looks into Lake Isaac. Her reflection stares back. Gentle curls frame her face. A thin nose and lips ripple in the surface. Clear water shows the shallow bottom. Tiny fish move beneath her smiling face. They form shapes as they move. A hand of fish appears below her face. The eyes seen to sink. The nose widens. A wet sensation shots down her back. Vivian falls face first into the cool water.
The pond in front of her turns black. Grey shadows linger just beyond her sight. The face reflected has become an unrecognizable phantom. Its features more rounded. Hair blends into the blackness.
Vivian’s ears pickup echoing sounds. Partial English voices mix with strange elongated words. Broken pauses in the weird speech resonate in her head. The stillness of time pushes out the raging fear within her.
A dim world opens. The lake appears like a film negative. White trees rise above black pool. A small island meets the far end. There’s a lone figure standing looking away in the distance. Past the figure, a mass of movement. Loud bangs and hoof beats ring in Vivian’s. A hail of arrows carry flames toward the small wooden hut. In a flash, the world is orange. The lady falls backwards in the lake. Her tattered gown blazing. A wind blows against the riders. They fall into blackness.
“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” Vivian screams. The air carries the cries. Time stops briefly. A crowd surrounds her. The vision gone. The image coins to her mind.