Charlottes work...

The mist lay heavy within the banks of the river, in odd moments of courage or deceit it crept out to enfold trees or sleeping bicycles that had been leant against low fences. Still as death and as cold it watched as Angel like swans glided through its earth bound clouds. Grey ghosts of cows, bodies seemingly floating, devoid of legs drifted along invisible pathways.

I could feel my beard was dripping in water droplets that had gathered there like people in a que for what they knew not. The top of my bald head cold from the wind I had made on my bicycle. Somewhere off in the distance a Robin sang merrily and in stark contrast a shadow-like crow burst from the now swirling mist, as if death had come unbidden in corporeal form.

Upon every stick and blade of grass hung Autumns chandeliers. Tiny worlds dangling upon silvery thread. My feet feel the cold and wet as I kneel in the grass, hidden by the mist and silent as the grave, I stare at every orb. I hear the heavy breath of a nearby cow and am awoken afresh.

Autumn....just my favourite dreamlike time of the year.