The Fallen Leaves

Life can sometimes seem unchanging in its progression through time. Every clock turning backwards mockingly with every furtive glance. At other times it may change suddenly and without care as though an earthquake has just torn asunder all that you held dear. All around you lie the ruins of a life that no longer seems your own but something that once belonged to another life past.

Autumn seems to be a time of forgetting, where the dead things in our lives fall apart and decay. Hopefully, they might rest and not awaken from what dark oblivion holds them to haunt us in our dreams.

I myself have good cause to lay to rest the fallen fruits of the summer. I suppose that the best way that I might describe what has occurred to me would be to imagine an apple laying within a pool of light. One might pick it up and admire its gleaming perfect skin before savouring its delicious fruits. It is only then, as the first of the shadows lengthen, that one realises that the summer has ended and Autumn has arrived. The fruit that is so treasured appears different and then, upon turning it, one becomes aware of its underbelly all rotten and bruised. The surface writhes from the decay lying beneath it and with despair you let it fall. The sense of loss gives one insight into the true immensity of emptiness. The heart withers and dies, buried beneath the fallen leaves.

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About Admin

Crispian Thurlborn Posted on

Crispian Thurlborn is a British author that has spent most of his adult life travelling and working on distant shores. If not writing, Crispian can be found taking photographs, telling stories, running a Call of Cthulhu session, or... most likely... in a pub.


  1. Thanks. I find I have so little time to get much done that it helps to just jot things down like this from time to time. I’m not sure what the given name is of short prose to be honest…

    How are things going with your own search for the Holy Grail?

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