Short Story

That Day in October

A change in the wind, leaves limp from the trees, not ready to let go. I’m not ready to let go. A change. Sun bright, air cold. Leaves gather at the road side, conkers crushed, defeated. This day. I think of you. Not ready for the change.

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Slate

Inside I sit, desk piled high with papers, I don’t want to read, don’t want to see, don’t want at all. I stare solemnly, watch slate skies dissolve. Like Newtons cradle the rain falls in rhythm. Soft ball bearings knocking at the door. I welcome the distraction. Watch the rain run, making decisions, changing it’s course. How I wish I could change this. Change what happened. Change us.