I love the autumn.
The maples. The maples!
This one is in my backyard...I can see it from my office window.
I've discovered the seasons influence whatever I'm working on...especially this season.
A raw paragraph, which may be edited, deleted, or stetted, from a Work in Progress:
Miss Howard looked at her watch. She had forty minutes. She walked purposely past the community garden in the park, a brave little project begun by young, eager do-gooders. There, the season’s beauty lingered. The giant sunflowers, seeded heads cocked, looked down at her, the asters screamed purple, the Heavenly Blue morning glories having scaled the chain link, preened in the pink morning light. A monarch fluttered past, bound for Mexico. The brash beauty of the golden maples and scarlet dogwoods demanded she stop, and admire. While poets were besotted with spring, Miss Howard found the fall to be most poignant season of all. Every year she saw more clearly the effort the natural world put forth-- the last, stubborn throes of bloom--before winter killed and cut. Every year the wistful earth seemed to draw her closer. She might bother with Mall Walkers and a dozen pills everyday--calcium, the vitamins, the fish oil, the Lipitor, the aspirin, the Celebrex—but one autumn soon, the beautiful, fatal earth was going to welcome Miss Howard. She would be ready.
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Hello Ms. Friddle,
ReplyDeleteYour wip is quite the sensory explosion. I admire your phrasing..."the last, stubborn throes of bloom--before winter killed and cut," and how it portends your character's own apparent situation and reflection.
Btw, as w/ Ms. Howard, I, too, experience “fall to be most poignant season of all”-- poignant being the operative word for me.
-C
Thank you....Yes, I find it poignant, too~
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