Veil of Autumn

VEIL OF AUTUMN

There is a chill in the room today. Autumn makes a grand entrance as she dances upon the mist and beats her tambourine. Round and round she spins in twirls, swirls, dips, and lifts; the rustle of her colorful skirt illuminated by the morning sun.

I watch from the window. The pane rattles with anticipation as she rustles by, playing peek-a-boo with the lace curtains hanging there.  I hear the hushed whispers, telling secrets and then, the howling laughter. A shiver runs the length of my spine. Where is my shawl…?

Who?  She asks as she taps at my door.  Whooooo?

I don’t remember. Something stops me cold as I step toward the threshold; wanting to open it for her but dread fills my veins and I am frozen in fear.

I don’t know who. I only know the room is becoming colder, musty and damp. Again I feel the icy fingers running up and down my back; I shiver.

From behind the veil I watch the hours play games in the shadows running through the tall grass that was once a handsome lawn where we played croquet.

The Red Maples that line the meandering drive to our front door are set ablaze in the twilight. Flaming embers soon cover the ground.

As dusk approaches, the playful breezes turn sinister and foreboding. Their sharp tongues cut through the tree limbs like a knife. Detached, I stand watching with morbid captivation.  The branches moan under the assault.  Blood sprays into the air, falling like a tortured rain to form pools of crimson scarlet on the ground below.

Who? The wind wails as it beats upon my door. Whooo?

Who indeed!

Faces appear upon the window glass, painted in frost and howling from the pain of the changing.

I cannot let you in.  Detached!…I am stolid, unaffected, numb…

I cannot escape these unhallowed hollow walls. I wear them like a shroud to shelter me from the mocking winter as he approaches.  No, I will not open the door for the season though she amuses and confuses the senses.  I will not welcome her in so she can distract me whilst the frigid grip of death tightens around my neck.  I will not surrender to mortality!

The night covers the landscape like a pall. Darkness and the creatures that haunt within are my only companions. I, in my mantilla, shall ascend the grand staircase and retire to my chamber and awaken to my mourning; forever in autumn.

 M TERESA CLAYTON from the book STORYTELLER