Autumn Wind

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distant hills seem nearer, clearer, in sharper relief.</p><p id="b817">The cows, still out and about, never stray too far from the barn though. Sort of hanging around it like teenagers around a bus stop. They definitely prefer the warm inside, they do. More food there, too, if not very varied.</p><p id="fc98">Waiting for the farmer (as bus) to come and collect them.</p><p id="c37f">Ah, here’s a magpie, though. Hopping about, crow-like. Then flitters up onto a barren branch. Checking me out, it seems. Not sure what goes on in that coal-black little head of his. Are you looking for summer, Master Magpie?</p><p id="efae">I’ve got a new jacket. Wearing it for the second time. I can’t get it dirty, Mom’s edict. It’s warm and (so Mom says) stylish. Not so sure about that, haven’t seen anyone else with this jacket, but it is very nice. Maybe Master Magpie is admiring it, what do I know. I would if I were a magpie, for sure.</p><p id="5834">There’s homework to do, but not too much. And not very hard. I’m good at math, very good. Best in class. Best in Show. Plenty of time to attend to that after dinner.</p><p id="11dc">It’ll be dark before Dad comes back from his machine shop. October is alwa

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ys darker and darker by the day, if not by the hour. Not that dark yet, though, and Master Magpie is still admiring my new jacket, I’m sure of it.</p><p id="6c38">I look around to see if I can find anything wrong with this world, but look as I may, I can’t see any wrongs at all. Only rights.</p><p id="9147">Master Magpie takes off, and I hear the farmer calling in the cows:</p><p id="d0a6">“Koosera, Koosera, Koosera,” he bellows, almost sings to them and they, to a cow, lift their heads and recognize him and begin to saunter towards the now wide-open barn door.</p><p id="ee6a">© Wolfstuff</p><div id="c9e1" class="link-block"> <a href="http://wolfstuff.com"> <div> <div> <h2>Wolfstuff</h2> <div><h3>So, who am I? Really really. I could tell you that I was born in northern Sweden during a snow storm, and subsequently…</h3></div> <div><p>wolfstuff.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*J0nAljd7ly_u-6mU)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Autumn Wind

I Am Twelve Again

Image by Author

The September wind stern, with the promise of snow I am twelve again

Ah, fall in Sweden, all around our little cottage. The ground is all yellow and brown and red with birch and lilac leaves. The dog prefers inside to outside, these days. The cat, too.

Not too many birds about. Can’t see any from here. Anywhere.

But what a glorious day. Twelve, what a glorious age (he thinks, fifty years on).

The fields no longer smell of cow dung, they smell of winter around the corner. The clouds no longer come in competing twos and threes, they come in the hundreds, carpet-like, racing across the autumn sky, graying the earth.

How can I be so vibrantly alive when all else is winding down, bedding in and down for the long, snowy haul? I just don’t know. I just know that the air is filling my lungs better than ever, odors are reaching my nose better than ever, even distant hills seem nearer, clearer, in sharper relief.

The cows, still out and about, never stray too far from the barn though. Sort of hanging around it like teenagers around a bus stop. They definitely prefer the warm inside, they do. More food there, too, if not very varied.

Waiting for the farmer (as bus) to come and collect them.

Ah, here’s a magpie, though. Hopping about, crow-like. Then flitters up onto a barren branch. Checking me out, it seems. Not sure what goes on in that coal-black little head of his. Are you looking for summer, Master Magpie?

I’ve got a new jacket. Wearing it for the second time. I can’t get it dirty, Mom’s edict. It’s warm and (so Mom says) stylish. Not so sure about that, haven’t seen anyone else with this jacket, but it is very nice. Maybe Master Magpie is admiring it, what do I know. I would if I were a magpie, for sure.

There’s homework to do, but not too much. And not very hard. I’m good at math, very good. Best in class. Best in Show. Plenty of time to attend to that after dinner.

It’ll be dark before Dad comes back from his machine shop. October is always darker and darker by the day, if not by the hour. Not that dark yet, though, and Master Magpie is still admiring my new jacket, I’m sure of it.

I look around to see if I can find anything wrong with this world, but look as I may, I can’t see any wrongs at all. Only rights.

Master Magpie takes off, and I hear the farmer calling in the cows:

“Koosera, Koosera, Koosera,” he bellows, almost sings to them and they, to a cow, lift their heads and recognize him and begin to saunter towards the now wide-open barn door.