Sense of Fall – S. K. Nicholas


In the woods behind my old house, thememoryof the boy I once was plays with the ghosts at dawn.LikeThe Pied Piper, Ichaseafter himlonging for the mysteries ofthefall.There are twigs in my beard, and I’m mildly drunk. The grain on my camera phone isn’t flatteringin the slightest, and as I try tocapturethemost mesmerisingimagespossible, the magic islacking.As an architect ofthe strange, I’m usually pretty good atsniffing outintriguing shots, but this time around, nothing works. It’s been raining all day, and although the rain fills my soullikeholy water, I’m drowned all the same.My mind is awash with snatches of scenes I can’t place, but I know they mustsurelybelong to me.Resting against the trunk of a tree, I remember

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