Why I love Autumn

There has been time in my life when I loved Summer. Of course, kids love Summer don't they? So warm and sweet. No school, lots of free time, holidays, friends and fun fun fun.
Then, there is the Winter. Beautiful snow, white and sparkly; good building material as well. And oh, what kid wouldn't love Christmas, right?
Wait, you're telling me I forgot about the Spring? Sorry.. never was much of a Spring lover. Everything is just kind of devastated after Winter, there is a lot of rain and then some freezing as well. How would That be likable?
But I'm here to talk about Autumn!
I thought of this the other day, when I was walking down one (not very particular) street in Žilina.  Gusts of wind were hitting me strong and cold, making me tighten my scarf around my neck and hold my coat closer to my body. At that moment, the few leaves already lying on the ground stirred a bit and sent the sweet smell of Autumn to my nostrils. That was the smell that always hits me. It is so pleasant and slightly peppery, and I can't push away the thought that this is indeed the smell of dying, decaying leaves that I'm enjoying. A slight smirk crossed my face. That was my mind sensing this familiar truth.
With an umbrella above my head I continued strolling towards my favourite café. Even the umbrella was delightful. Dotty and blue, just like I prefer all my things. Playful, yet not very distinct.
The muffled sounds of tiny raindrops hitting it sounded like a song. Somebody whispering a chaotic melody, I could hear a piano in my mind, pinning the tones down.
And then, there is the air. It is somehow fuller at this particular time of the year. It is as if the air itself was heavier, but pleasantly. It is fuller and it makes sense for it to fill up every nook and cranny. You just have to excuse if for messing up your hair, because it was made for it. It was born that way and it just wants to feel the intimacy of you. Of me... it is a kinky one, I admit, but would you blame him?
I continue on my journey. Few meters left, I'm avoiding puddles - don't get me wrong, I just don't wan to hurt them, of course... would you like being stepped on? Well whatever your answer is, I doubt you'd like that (and I'm not talking about the cute Asian girls giving you back massage).
And there I was, in the Café. Sipping my coffee, warming myself up, looking  at the people outside. They all look so natural in there. In Autumn, everything is meant to be, everything is meant to happen. It is that kind of the year...

Attention :D

New short-stories-ish and poems are already in the process of rewriting :D
Coming soon:
HELPLESS SOUL,
A LATE ARRIVAL,
INSIDE,
EPI-FOR-YOU,
RED IS THE NEW BLACK
;)

Phony

Words of sweet denials,
words of the sweetest lies.
So bitter they cut
So bitter you bleed.

The truth is true no more,
it's the world itself.
It's the lonely mountain,
because no one's there.

Once the syllables are out
driven by all mighty lust,
there's no way you can trust
even if the time has passed.

It is just the question.
It's the voice inside your head.
It came from the outside
and there's nowhere you can hide.

They come and go.... They come and go...

Thoughts of the past,

thoughts of life -

-here they come at last-

cutting like a knife.

Here they come and go,

then you're empty,

you let it flow.

Here they come and go.

Thoughts of bitter tastes,

of the hate and haste.

Haste to keep it moving,

but instead of loving,

You just let them go...

The fireplace

He was sitting in front of the fireplace, his old companion throughout all those long lonely evenings. It always gave him this feel that he was being tended for. The comfortable warm radiation licking his old woolen socks would always calm him to sleep, but not today. For today was special. It’d been long since it was snowing this much. Snowflakes of size of feathers were falling in a swirling gentle motion.

The last time the night was this white was… the night to remember. But that was a long time ago. Those times he could still recognize his sweet Anna, those times he would hold her hand and they would talk about little things. The fire in the fireplace would enclose both of them and they would lightly kiss goodnight.

And at that moment, after all those years he tilted his head and looked at the spare armchair. Soft and lovely just like in those times, but empty.

Smiling face, flowing locks of hair, dancing together with her body in the rhythms of the music coming from their freshly bought gramophone.

His heart pushed at the wall of his chest, taking the last thump for itself… and for her.

Flowers in a Jar

Just now… it would do. Yes, it must do. It would JUST do. But „just“ is not enough, is it? And she knew better than to rely on „just“. She knew that what she had to do, but it would maybe be too much, now wouldn’t it? No, no, enough is never too much. Just enough would do.

And so she picked another Othelly flower and started whistling for herself. Another bend, another pick, another flower. All over again. A slight grim started to form on her face while she was hopping around in a sheer delight. Another flower. Perhaps now it would do. ‘Would?’ What a horrid idea! Of course it wouldn’t do! Another bend, another flower.

She looked judgementally upon the basket full of her lovely little flowers. Now. Now it will do. Now it is just enough. She laughed a little, her voice full of bells. Now she would finally fall asleep. So many, oh, so many restless nights. Perhaps now she will rest for at least one night. Just imagine it! One Whole Night!

She caressed the sweet blue petals of her new friends. So fragile they were. Just like her. Oh, but she will have to drown them. Of course. That was the way of things. That was the way it would be. Otherwise she won’t sleep.

She whispered an apology, caressed them one more time and tucked them into the jar prepared just for them. Jar half filled with water, yes, it was the perfect place for them to be.

Then she closed it delicately, and shook. Once, twice… that would do.

Now would it?

Oh, silly thing she was, of course not.

…three times, four times. Now. Now it was just fine.

She held her breath as she was opening the jar again. Ah, the sweet smell of sleep. Here we go. She pushed her lips to the glass and took a sip. Then more… and more.

Of course, it was the time. And it was the place. The best place. Soft willow, sounds of whispering trees…

Yes, she would sleep now. Just one night, surely… Surel…..       

The Fall

When the breeze blows,

Whispers and howls

And caresses the trees,

When the leaves tremble

And in swirl they leave,

When the marks appear in pond,

Sharp round curves cut in

By the ever-blowing wind

And spread around is sweet

Quiet melancholy,

When your imagination

Fails to outstrip the reality,

Then it is the call

Of yet again returning Fall.