I Wrote About Autumn Before I Knew What Autumn Was

Prose poem — the first touches of Autumn

Sharika Hafeez
The Lark Publication

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Photo by Lina Kivaka

When they say it’s the first day of autumn, you don’t see it.

The outdoors are as warm as a hot summer’s day.
You don’t see the orange leaves swirl around before they fall;
you don’t see the sun vanish behind hazy orange skies;
you don’t hear the crunch-crunch of dead leaves beneath your feet —

because you wrote about autumn before you knew what autumn was.

And then, one day, you come out of the bath with your teeth chattering and the tips of your fingers numb, and it finally hits you — it’s autumn.

Your breath starts misting for the first time that year, and you know autumn is nearly upon you.

You trudge through the muddy puddles with a heart as light as the gentle drizzle pelting you, and for a moment you’re horrified as you see your impeccable boots splattered with mud —
but then you remember that it’s autumn, and it’s raining, and you’re wearing your favorite jacket and your favorite boots, and you’re living a life your teenage self would envy.

You sip a steaming cup of chai, sitting in one of the cozy university huts under warm…

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Sharika Hafeez
The Lark Publication

Writer. Physics student. Under the inky-black sky, with a steaming cup of chai in my hands, I watch the stars and I write.