From My Letter Series – A Letter to Virginia in Autumn

My dearest Virginia —

 

The air is crisp and cool tonight

not fevered as nights’ past

I smell Autumn and long for you —

 

I remember the last time

we walked together

your dress

of yellow, orange and flame red

swished in the late afternoon air

I could have watched you forever

dancing along the beaten trails

We sat and scattered our lunch

among the browning leaves —

with bellies bloated, we stretched out

your bronze head rested upon my chest

I gazed into the filtered sunlight

and thought

there could be no better life than this

 

O Virginia!

I miss your curves and valleys

my fingers dipping into your silky lakes

bathing in your scent of pine and redbud

caressing shivered slate ridges —

my arms ache to embrace

your harvest

where you give, give

your bounty in abundance —

Such passion I’ve never known since

 

Sweet love —

if I could but see you again

feel your laughter against my skin

taste the Autumn rain upon your lips

Surely that would sustain me —

 

As I gaze up into the filtered sunlight

leaves beginning to blush

I think of you, My sweet Virginia —

these Oklahoma Autumns are sun-dusted

and barren

            compared to you

 

Call me home, Virginia!

I am brown leaves, parched —

Call me home!

the frigid chill of Winter is so near

O Virginia –

if I could have just one sip

from your maple-dripping lips

            I could live once more

I could live

© 2013 Lori Carlson

 

Flash Fiction: The Mirror

Tilly passed the antique store every day on her way to work. She stood for a few moments staring inside at all the furnishings she wished for her own home some day.

On this particular day, there was a new mirror hanging in the display room. She went inside. The mirror was round and heavily embellished in the Baroque style. It wasn’t reflective. She surmised that perhaps it was damaged in some way. Leaning forward, she touched the mirror. Smoke cleared and it suddenly became reflective.

Standing before the mirror, her hands on her cheeks, Tilly gasped. The eyes of an eight year old Tilly stared back at her.

And then she spoke.

“Come play with me.”

Tilly was never seen again.