The Dying Days of Autumn

             Cool air penetrated my soul as it tore over my skin and hair. A dull green mossy texture tickled at my hands and feet. My eyelids flew open. Brilliant vermillion leaves hung frailly in my eyes. Their marvelous color was intensified by the cerulean sky behind them. Again, the wind tore across my face, pushing my hair over my eyes. The moist ground had sunken into my dress, amplifying the harsh bite of the chilling air. Brushing the tangled hair from my face, I noticed to my left a modest creek. The water mumbled quietly to itself as it passed by. It must have been discussing this strange girl staring at it reveling. With the wind’s next snap at me, the leaves looking down on me began to chatter.

            “What a strange girl!” The oak exclaimed.

            “A strange one, indeed!” The maple replied.

            “Oh, gloomy leaves,” My lips, moist yet cold, moved slowly. The leaves didn’t reply. They simply looked onward, still gawking at this artless child. I chuckled cruelly to myself, “All in good time, my dear leaves. You’ll be laying here with me soon enough.” A wicked smile cursed my lips:

                        Autumn days come fast,

                        A sign that life will not last.

                        But while each soul lives,

                        Give everything you can give.

                        Every leaf my must fall.

                        Just recall who they fall on.

            “Haha! A silly girl; a silly poem?” a gnarly voice shrieked from the leaves:

                        Big black feathers fly.

                        My haughty laugh cries and cries!

                        You sing awful songs!

                        Your petty rhythm is all wrong.

                        Return to your home.

            This Raven was a poet, not simply the subject! But who is he to give this girl advice? He knows not, I came here to die!

            “You’re a young girl, I see. Why lie here in the cold? Why come to this place? No humans would dare tread here!”

            “You see, Raven,” I countered, “My love, my darling husband of just two months; he’s taken a ride on Epona’s saddle.” At this the Raven scowled. He flapped his swarthy wings about then sighed.

            “A swordsman, was he?”

            “Yes, dark bird.”

            “Gone off to face the Romans?” Silence was all there was the dismal dark angel. When he looked down upon me, those chatty leaves covered me. All of them were saffron, crimson, and ocherous. “She too has gone to Otherworld. Autumn is, after all, the dying days. At least she shall be with her swordsman. Goddesses be with her.” And this that, the fierce fowl flew aloft.

            “What a strange bird!” The oak exclaimed.

            “A strange one, indeed!” The maple replied.