Fall colors freewrite

The fire in the throat of the wind, the way it flickers and lickshas me worried. There is an inferno combusting in the trees. The leaves gathered in the sunlight all summer long and at the first cold wind, they dream in sun colors, and let go. Soon the leaves will give away all the pieces of summer to that tramp of a wind that licks at the eddies and crevices until the trees stand bare in naked skeletal splendor. A branch rubs against a windowpane, a street light flickers like distant fire, and all the stops are pulled out. An aura of wind, water and earth. Fire in the hole. Incongruously, I think, is that a canary in your mind shaft?

9/23/2005 Writers’ Group

Autumn Equinox freewrite

The turning of the seasons, looking back over the shoulder, eyes cast on the remnants of summer, with one foot stepping towards winter, the other leaving spring. Equinox. But the nights are growing in sooner, no dog days, no halcyon days of Indian summer to carry us across the threshold of the year. A cold wind nipping at our heels, so uncharacteristic of September. The cold seeps into the bones, it creeps under the open corridors of loose shirts, and preternaturally dwells in the psyche. The cat wants in. He’s bracing himself against the cold, he wants in, he wants shelter from the storm. As do we all. And has Dylan finally cashed in the cow during the September of his years? We listen to his lyrics sell, sell, sell And now Scorsese has made a film of him. What happens when the idols become the icons? It’s Equinox, but where? Surely, not here, maybe at the equator where the nights and days are always equal. No cold nights to remind you of winter’s frailty. Meanwhile another hurricane pounds the Gulf, and the homeless living in tents, in sthe weltering heat, still have warm summer nights. No pestilence infested night to contend with. Yet, I bet they’d happily trade places with us, even with the cat.

9/23/2005 Writers’ Group

Huckleberrying with Bears

SUE: How’s it over there?

BOB: Pretty good.

DAVE: I found a really good patch. Handfuls of berries. Big ones too. Blues.

SUE: Really? Where are you?

DAVE: To your right. More. A little more.

SUE: Keep on talking. I still can’t see you.

DAVE: I’ll rattle the bushes, OK?

BOY: Aooooo!

LORA: What was that?

SUE: It’s just the boy.

LORA: Are there any bears here?

DAVE: Naw, not yet.

BOY: Aooooo!

LORA: Whaddya mean, not yet?

DAVE: Not bad, kid. Scared the shit outta me. They're working their way down the coast. Already got ‘em in Sonoma County.

SUE: I still can’t see any of you. Rattle the bush again. Thanks.

BOY: Aooooo!

DAVE: Wait. I didn’t rattle any bush. Did you? Mmmm, these berries are good. Sweet too. I’m coming over. Quit playing around, now Boy. Won’t be long now. Grrrr! Where are you?

BOY: Grrrr!

SUE: Over here. Are you moving around? How come you rattled it from a different place? You're freaking me out. You trying to get me lost or something?

DAVE: But I didn’t move. And look at the bushes. Can you see them? Do it again.

SUE: Do it again Dave, I missed it. Man this wood’s thick. A fire waiting to happen like Inverness Ridge.

DAVE: Hey, I'm talking. Ya find it?

LORA: Think he was guilty?

DAVE: Who?

LORA: OJ Simpson, of course.

DAVE: What brought that one on?

LORA: The fire. It was during the trial. We were stuck a week in this camp and the only news we got was the fire and the trial. Yeah, I was stuck a whole at Camp Mendocino Woodlands. Not bad. Hey, has anyone heard Bob lately?

BOB: I can’t get through. The brush is way too thick. I gotta go around. Dang! I lost my watch. You gotta watch out for sinkholes too. Next time bring a machete, will ya? We gotts ta head back, it’s nearly sunset. I'll catch up with you at the car. Everyone move west, towards the light. Stay in pairs, OK? See you on the other side.

 DAVE: Bob? Bob?

(this piece was a victim of epic ASCII fail....I was only able to resurrect fragments of it.)