Fall

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My wife is a child again, kicking through the leaf-strewn pavement. The chill autumnal air has left her cheeks as red as the leaves. She stops and buries her feet – her ankles sunk deep into the season. Her shoes are orange and gold, made of a thousand crisp, dry souls.

She is rooted in fire and my world is a frozen breath.

And then she kicks — once, twice — filling the air with bursts of vermillion.

‘Got you!’ she crows.

I chase her home and into the bedroom where I fling her down and tear away her petals, one by one.

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