Picture Perfect

The local plants lose their leaves instantly.

One day, still clinging fiercely to the last of the light,

The next, brown and barren, frozen until the return of warmth.

The true fall here is a brief stepping stone on the way to winter.

If it is a kaleidoscope of colours, it is a kaleidoscope of brown and cold and ominous hibernation.

The riot of leaves, of red and gold and photo opportunities-

They aren’t from here.

They come from elsewhere,

A nostalgic memory of other places, other autumns.

Those bold, bright colours live until-

The set of rot, the frost that catches them out, the True Winter.

There are always more people from elsewhere though

Ready to plant their memories

Picture perfect and already dead.

IMG_0285Beautiful and transient reminders of other worlds

Nostalgia is a powerful and fascinating force.

For clashes with the past, nostalgic and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

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