Dear Visitor,
Since the Autumn weather is upon us, I think it is time to put forth a vignette that I wrote some years ago, but haven’t shared publicly until today. Please enjoy.
FALL FLUTTER
Two cardinals whistle, “It’s here, It’s here,” from their seats atop the greyed cedar post of an old split rail fence, as a tickle of wind disturbs the orange and yellow leaves of a gnarled black walnut tree. Suddenly, a trio of squirrels run chattering down the side of a dilapidated barn. They chase one another across the ground, twice around the tree trunk, then over to and up a half fallen fence rail, spooking the birds, red flurries, who flee to the safety of a low branch. A large drop of rain craters the sky grey earth in front of the barn’s derailed and hanging door, like a tiny meteorite.
Circulating back across the top rail, the lead squirrel pauses at the top of the post with the leaning rails, and stands erect. His tail twitches nervously as he scans the ominous horizon, ears shifting back and forth, while his friends sit hunched on the crossmember beside him. Another drop hurtles downward, striking the lead squirrel, “pat,” right on the snout. Flicking it away with his front paws, he barks a quick order, and the three scurry down from the fence and up into a rotting fissure near the crotch of the tree.
The tree’s branches whip violently as it fends off an angry gust of wind, and the cardinals huddle in toward the trunk. The wall of wind slams into a near by bush, flushing some sparrows, who struggle like salmon through the falling water, towards the respite of the battered old barn. A sole wheel remains in its track holding the door’s outside corner as the whole panel flaps, threatening to fall on the brown speckled birds who strafe the ground as the wind deals another blow. Once beyond the threshold, they hobble upward to a dry rotted stall divider, with a few final beats of their tired wings. A pair of red foxes, too, shelter in the barn, cowering beneath a thick workbench next to the stall, while the barn’s rafters howl and twist, as water gushes in falls through the roof’s many gaping holes.
A single crash of thunder trails a long fingering branch of yellow lightening that tears through the clouds, bringing with it a final onslaught of down pouring as the sky empties through the gaping fissure. The storm screams with its last mighty breath, ripping the barn’s door from its mountings, and sending it to lay beside the torrent of muddy water that churns forth from the opening the door once guarded. A moment later, the cardinals are the first to stir, they hop toward the end of a branch and swoop over to their favorite fence posts amongst intermittent drops of abating rain, and whistle once more, “It’s clear, it’s clear,” but they are wrong.
The foxes are the first to hear the waterlogged barn-wood’s groans. The sparrows feel it. Neither species stirs. The squirrels, now out of their hole, hear something too, and scuttle curiously to the ends of the branches nearest to the barn. With a loud and tearing crash, a large portion of the hayloft gives way. The foxes slink their way through the wreckage, and flit out the front door of the barn, while the poorly rested sparrows flutter out the nearest hole in the roof.
Thank you for reading. I welcome critique, so please let me know of what you thought of Fall Flutter in the comments.
See you next time,
Nicholas