On that autumn morning; when you are taking a walk, looking down the street, or out over open pastureland or fields. There is a bank of mist: autumn??™s breath. Lying low to the ground. Muting the sunlight in its cloudy essence. That wall of nimbus white is a veil and behind the silken fabric of it lies all the yesteryears of autumn. At times there is a tear in the misty fabric and an autumn yesteryear spills through.

Two young boys, ruddy-faced, wearing plaid flannel shirts and worn denim pants. They??™re laughing while raking up leaves into two giant piles in the front yard. The afternoon air is crisp and their breath plumes out as the boys talk and joke. From the kitchen window their mother peers at her sons. She??™s preparing dinner and the delicious odors from her kitchen seep out, permeating the autumn afternoon. Smiling, she disappears from view. The front door is opened and a large red dog bounds out, barking happily. Cheerfully loping towards the boys, the dog jumps and spins, then plows smack into one stack of leaves. Autumn colors fly. Lunging for the dog, both boys scramble to reach him before he sets his eyes on the other pile. In the meantime the trees drop more of their attire...The memory is so beautiful and fresh...you gasp.

Nearly Halloween. In front of the house is a bale of hay. A scarecrow, a pumpkin, and a black cat sit on top. A sign below them reads, BOO! Driving his parent??™s car, the teen-aged boy pulls up in front of the house. It is early evening and the sun is just about to set. Rays of light shoot out from the descending disk and the beams are thick with golden motes. So thick you??™d swear you could rend the glittering, amber swaths by drawing your arm through them. The costume he is wearing covers him from toe to head, and is a bit large on him. He steps into the glowing dusk light and lumbers to the front porch. He knocks. And she opens the door. His date. Fresh skinned and bright eyed she greets him. A chilly zephyr brushes against her smooth skin like a minty kiss. The princess hugs the ???monster.??? The young man pulls off his mask. Her father steps into view and the boy blushes. It is suddenly uncomfortably hot in his Frankenstein outfit. Father and daughter invite him in. He shakes the man's hand, then shuffles through the doorway...You witness this piquant moment...and smile.

It is just after noon and you hear the giggles first thing, then running feet, and the muffled echoes of other children on their way home. She rounds the corner. Her arms overflowing with new books and crisp binder paper. A blush stains her cheeks and the sweetest smile that ever graced a child's face plays across her features. School has just let out and it is the first day of fall. On the sidewalk in front of the neighbor's house the girl's mother is waiting. Upon seeing her daughter, she bends down, arms outstretched and the girl flies into her mother's grasp. She chatters about her day and the mother listens while caressing her daughter's curly blonde hair. She smells the starch, faint now, that she used when she did the laundry. The scent infused with the warmth from her daughter's small frame. She encircles her daughter's shoulders, lifts her off the ground, and hugs her with all the love that she's been saving since her daughter left the house that morning. It is a surprising amount for only half a day, but this is the woman's first child and she wants to tell her girl what her day has been like, too. And not so long away, a half a day will soon turn into a full day. They grow up so fast...You nod your head affirmatively...and sigh.

A wet, cold fog fills the late morning day. Rolling hills of dewy grass stretch out of sight. Sounds are muffled, even the squawk of the crows in the dripping evergreen trees. He threads his way around the memorials, gazing through the gray, looking. Hands clasped under two roses--he spots the tilted stone under a spreading pine tree. Snugging his collar up around his neck, he huddles into his overcoat. Standing above the grave he folds his own hands and bows his head in prayer. The skin of his hands feels tight and brittle. And the tip of his nose burns from the bite in the air. Finishing his prayer he gazes upward, remembering. A tear traces a warm path from eyes overflowing with memories. The scene is so poignant...you cry.

These are just a few of the memories that dance to be released behind autumn's breath...Just a thought away.

Copyright ?© 2003 by Kathy Anne Harris

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"God fashioned the dog from sun drops." --kah

"A Golden is sunlight wrapped in fur." --kah

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I live in central, sunny California, where I share my life with my husband and our furry family. I work full time for a living, and I write in order to live fully. My works have been featured in 2TheHeart, StoryTime Tapestry, Starfish, Driftwood, CatTails, Petwarmers, Heartwarmers, Insight of the Day*, Moments of Reflections, Gwen's Place Newsletter, Women with Heart, and Eternal Ink. I am also a weekly columnist for the publication "Frank Talk" which is distributed in three counties in Michigan, USA.