Transition Period

the tentative taste of fall was swelling sitting upon my taste buds. the sepia sounds of buried intentions fell helplessly decaying into the earth like the desolate leaves on trees who dread departing from their faithful facetious friends. autumns auspicious aim was that I harvest all the bitter lessons I planted springtime; the same ones that blossomed that succulent summer. her air carried the unspecific morose memories that hid in pinecones. I was not ready for the somber silence that the sharp winter had in store. unlike the grievous geese that fled the winter, we endured the viciousness of her black and white.