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. 

50 Word Stories: Inclement

"It's inclement."
"It's bloody freezing" I replied. The snow fell like spilled, white emulsion, the sun banished to distant lands. Even my dog, a grizzled old collie, refused to step foot in the yard. All in all, it was Antarctic.
"Just inclement." Brave words for a woman in a bikini.

October

October’s nipping fingers
Morning attention demanded
Sky cast about in shades of forever
How can she be ignored
A little chill of neck
A tingle down the spine
A, yes the summer has gone,
Don’t worry
Don’t be shy
Scent the snow
Watch the falling leaves
Tumbling like russet waltzers
Taste the crisp tang of calm
And we do as we’re bid, and smile
October rattles her timbers
And ices the pond
Returning our pleasures
In rainbows
Of seasonal hues

The End of Everything

…and the sky burned in wisps of fire, gnashing at the blue and chomping at the birds. A great mass of roiling, tangerine madness, Heaven seemed that bit further away trapped behind the fires of an aerial Hell. Everything was temporary chaos, everything was not usual. The few people awake fled in panic clanking milk bottles and revving up cars. For me, on the other hand, it made a pleasant change. My morning runs had become a bit monotonous. The end of everything just spiced them up a touch.

Richard’s Note: I actually stopped on my morning run to take this picture. Sometimes you just have to marvel at the beauty of life.

Wet

There’s a freedom in the rain not afforded by the sun. I wander amongst it with my head held high and a look of sheer glee on my face.
Others pass with barely concealed contempt for such gay abandon. I don’t care. Let them bask in the sun’s bloated ray’s, cook in the stench and steam, stew and bake, whilst I’m cleansed by the storm.
Is it wrong to wish for that pitter-patter, when others would not? It is a question I ponder often as I wait for the clouds to gather; I give it no thought at all once the rains fall.
I think it good to be wet, drenched even. The world stands still in these moments, curtained in transparency. There is no hiding from it, no required relief just the joy of the rain. Unadulterated and undiluted, I shall ever be grateful for Spring storms.
Good job, too, coming from England.