Change of Seasons

Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass. — Anton Chekhov

Take nine minutes (you have to use all nine, you can’t go over), and create a text picture, using your best “show don’t tell” skills. Any format (fiction, essay, verse) is acceptable; and it’s expected that your writing will be raw, so don’t stress about editing.


We knew it was too good to last, those October days bestowed on us like a blessing, each one more radiant that its predecessor. Every morning, wakened by fierce rays of sunshine pouring through our bedroom curtains, we opened our eyes in surprise. Another beautiful day, we'd think, marveling once again at our good fortune.

The earth itself seemed as nonplussed as we were, and trees arrayed themselves in their gaudiest finery, shameless in flaunting their scarlets and golds, until sometimes we averted our eyes, embarrassed by such naked splendor.

But today, in one flip of the calendar page, it's gone. Charcoal colored clouds, angry as a mob of belligerent teenagers, rumble across the sky, quickly surrounding the sun as it tries valiantly to muscle its way through. An aggressive wind whips dry golden leaves into a frenzy. They whirl anxiously around my feet, skittering goblins across the pavement.

We root through the closet, searching for long forgotten mittens and warm coats, sighing at the endless repetition of nature that has brought us to this place once again.

Winter.

this post prompted by Cafe Writing