Excerpt from one of my pieces, The Rabbit The dregs of autumn are shivering in the cold. Curled brown leaves are scampering across the grass, others swirling in the air as they drip steadily from the trees. The chrysanthemums fiercely grasp the tight green buds of another flush of bloom, arguing with the surging wind that it cannot have them. They may never bloom now that it is mid November, but it has not snowed enough to coat them with the muddy brown of fall’s decay. The spring is so green and cheerful, the autumn is so brown and rotten. The sun makes flashing pictures like some old movie from the thirties of its slow and painful journey across the garden. The sun has struggled to come alive today, while the fat grey clouds groan as the sun squeals away from their constant pressure. “Do not come back,” say the clouds in solemn words, “we are closing every window and door before the snow comes. An unwelcome guest, but he will come anyway.” The brown rabbit hops lightly among the debris. The wind ruffles her thickening fur, and the ground is colder on her feet. The sheltering evergreens protect the little hollow spot that marks the entrance to her hiding place under the garden shed. The little hole is just enough for her. A rabbit leads a simple life. I have forgiven her for eating my roses.
Posted on: Mon, 03 Nov 2014 12:30:35 +0000
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