an ode to autumn
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-eight years and a million words
Toronto, 2011.09.24
Day after day, the sky turns grey, and the leaves are crisp again.
And night after night, we pretend it's still warm. But it has grown colder, and the flowers are older, and no one gets very much sun, any more.
I can feel one of those spells coming on. I feel new layers of clothing, skin dry as old leather, hear rustling of fallen leaves.
(And I think I'll stop)