This is a submission for a magazine I recently wrote. Don’t know if I’ll get it in. Copyright by me, Christine Mallabnd-Brown.

Cool Autumn 

The nights come early now. Sparkling sunsets in blue and gold. The temperature drops, leaves shiver and fall onto the ground, or wait a while and shimmer on baring branches. 

Damp ground fills with mycellium. Fungal bodies strike up through wet soil. Each fruiting body a mushroom or toadstool that pixies and fairies could dance on, mocking the real world with their gyrations. 

Stink horns and puff balls sprout then burst, sending spores out into the earth to renew and grow for next year. Fairy rings enlarge and changlings replace children, only recognisable because their feet are at first on backwards until magic twists them back to the human position, toes forward. 

As the season continues crisp leaves become soggy clumps of leaf litter, hiding autumn crocus in their deep piles of rotting mulch. 

Oranges, gold, yellows, reds, browns, greens, purple, all mix and dull, seeping colour into the earth, dust to dust. Bonfires return ashes to the worms below. 

Painting the reflected blue sky in puddles, the mists rise and turn to fogs, covering valleys and hiding hedgehogs and frogs below their veiled moisture. Moving into the hibernation season, Squirrels forage for nuts, planting them between flagstones and creating the beginnings of saplings that will erupt in the spring in awkward places. 

The blurred vision of cataract eyed old women watch as the colours merge. 

They see their childhoods dance through fallen leaves. Kicking them into the air with the abandon of playful energy. They sleep long sleeps, gradually covering themselves in autumnal eiderdowns. Keeping warmth close to their bodies. As the frosts arrive, snuggling slowly into a safe, eternal sleep. 

Christine Mallaband-Brown © 2026