Young Writers Society

~ #monthlymusings #alliyahpoets

Autumn is pushing into my home before I have a chance to tell her she's early, and the sun hasn't arrived yet and won't for several hours. She does not care. She has laid out her collection of dried flowers, and acorns, and chirping crickets in an uneven row across my doormat and asks where I would like her to leave her storm-songs? I tell her I am not interested in buying anything today, not a girl-scout cookie, not a popcorn-ball, not a hurricane, and no I'm not nostalgic enough to start a fire or to turn on the heat in my apartment before October. She doesn't take no for an answer though. And against my better judgement, we are soon conversing like the old-friends we are, willing to overlook the mess, and overly comfortable with each-other's bad habits because we share them. With legs folded in on couch cushions, and mugs of tea at our palms, we will gossip into the moonlight-hours about the way Winter is always flirting with the trees, telling stories about how the Summer's been long and scarce, how we're scared of how fast time seems to move and take and take and take and how we're both ready for a season of hoarding everything we can hold.