100-Word Fiction: ‘Ends Again’

‘Ends’ is a word that keeps returning. It unravels every time. Whenever I think it sufficient it fails. There is more to be written, even after ends. Sometimes I mis-type it as ‘dens’. And then I rearrange the letters again. Dens! Delete, delete, delete, delete.

I may recollect that these weeks at the end of the year have been full of ends. And in that thought comes the prospect of the unknown future.

Ach, and who knows what’s going on, I asked myself as I tramped across the garden and spotted daffodil shoots already two inches high, even now, here.

100-Word Fiction: ‘Ends’

How we think about life when it ends.
The morning streetlight amber, off in an instant.
The geese that fly in and then loop back without warning.
The frosted cars idling by the pavements.
The early fog that lifts slowly above the church tower.
The shock of violas trembling in their pots.
The blackbird that hops off into the thorns.
The branches that fade from green to black.
The accretions of mud at the edge of the path.
The hold that autumn has, though winter must come.
The leaf that will not be shaken.
But it will be shaken, now.