Autumn

Thank you for having me, death. Please excuse me, must get back to it, life.

How many worlds can you hold in a hand.

In a handful of sand.

If I am destined to be happy with you here – how short is the longest Life.

John Keats

October’s a blink of the eye. The apples weighing down the tree a minute ago are gone and the tree’s leaves are yellow and thinning. A frost has snapped millions of trees all across the country into brightness. The ones that aren’t evergreen are a combination of beautiful and tawdry, red orange gold the leaves, then brown, and down

don’t like it when the summer goes and the autumn comes,

The rain was coming, she could see it when they got to the top of the hill, it was moving across the landscape like someone was shading in the sky with a pencil.

It’s got to be nipped in the bud

whoever makes up the story makes up the world

Bagatelle, then, Daniel said, because the whole point of Bagatelle is that you trifle with the stories that people think are set in stone

Things just happened. Then they were over. Time just passed. Partly it felt unpleasant, to think like that, rude even. Partly it felt good. It was kind of a relief.