Reminiscing

Robin on the fence

Breast aflame with red passion

Lost Summer sunsets

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50 Word Stories: The Sycamore Seeds

They spiralled down like dislodged plane rotors from the smallest fleet ever built. Millions? Well, that might’ve been exaggerating. Closer to thousands. Not one of them struck me, though. They avoided me with what I considered measured contempt. The last sycamore seeds of autumn. They could try again next year.

50 Word Stories: Ready?

Autumn has swept in without my knowing. An early gloom has stolen my evening reading and ushered in the need for unnatural, electric light; it buzzes like a swarm of flies. Northern kisses settle on chapped lips, the promise of snowflake tomorrows. There’s a change. Are you ready? I am. 

Blossom

Her skin was the colour of the last April snows, her lips the red of rebirth. Gentle of mind and body, she flirted with us all in pursuit of a distant summer. These things always seem further than they are passing all to swiftly when you’d wish them not.

We treasured those few months she was with us, savoured her every last intoxicating aroma. A seasonal adjustment, she guided us away from the cold and drear presenting us instead with that most treasured of quantities, promise. We called her Blossom, that Spring was hers.