It’s when, these mornings, that someone passes in the road and says hello and I don’t know what to do, and I clam up, or I hang my head slightly and whisper Hi, or Alright?, like the sullen teenager I was. And I wonder why I can’t reply confidently, head up, even now, after these years. And somehow then I notice the fat blackberries and rosehip in the hedgerow and the first fallen leaves already sludge on the muddy path, and I wonder about all the railway platforms I’ve stood on and the people… and there is one word: autumn.
100-Word Fiction: ‘Autumn Passings’
Published by MW Bewick
Writer of poetry and place; editor and journalist. Co-founder of Dunlin Press. Books including Pomes Flixus, The Orphaned Spaces and Scarecrow are available from http://dunlinpress.bigcartel.com View more posts
MW Bewick 