Autumn In July

A giant of gold, ochre and sunburst orange, interspersed by flickering, cerulean sky, it almost touched heaven. Almost, but not quite.
There were no shouts of timber, nor any of concern. It fell in silence, birthing a tempest the same. More an angry calm than a gentle storm, its discarded mantle made russet oceans of the city streets and obliterated the meadows in deathly hues. Like Autumn in July, I shivered. I tugged up my collar and gritted my teeth.
I wept as I watched. The tears hissed off my skin. My last thought? Just why we’d killed it? The Earth, that was. Didn’t we all?

Photo by Daniel J. Schwarz on Unsplash

2 thoughts on “Autumn In July

  1. Thank you, Richard. This topic is coming up a lot for me lately. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, with my most powerful voice, “We are so sorry, Mother Gaia, please forgive us and allow us the grace of penance.”

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