Fall

Digital Designs by Sandi Staton

Why do people shudder

When you enter the door?

Can it be they can’t let go of Summer’s hand,

Her beauty and charm?

Do her warm sunny beaches

Have them under her spell?

Or maybe it’s her breezy whispers

On a sultry starlit night.

Her lovely serenades.

Her enticing scents.

Yet, Summer, in all her shimmering glory,

Pales in comparison to you.

As a kindly grandfather

You enter my door,

Your long white beard flowing.

You grasp my hand,

It’s surprisingly warm,

Just like the smile on your face.

The jewels you bring are magnificent,

A panorama of reds and golds

Glistening from the trees.

The air is crisp and clean,

Invigorating after a long,

Lazy hot summer.

Even the sun is friendlier.

Less intense.

As if relieved that you are here.

Though summer beckons me still,

I’m content to be with you.

I think of you often

Throughout the year.

The joy you bring,

Especially when I was a child.

Summer wasn’t into carving pumpkins,

Or dressing up for Halloween.

And she never dreamed of putting on a coat

 And playing in the leaves.

Like Christmas,

I could hardly wait for your arrival.

Summer’s crying.

Like a child she clings,

Knowing that her charms

Are slowly fading away.

Your days are shorter and cooler.

Your nights are long and cold.

You scatter leaves everywhere,

And raking seems an endless task.

But I love you old friend.

And I’m ever grateful for the privilege

Of meeting you again.

~ Sandi

The Haunted House

Haunted House

Admit it. There’s something in the core of our being that is drawn to abandoned houses, dilapidated mills, and old barns. At least it was for my brothers and me. As kids, we’d ride our bikes through narrow, wooded country roads searching for a deserted house. One sunny afternoon, we hit the jackpot!

Even now I can see it sitting far off the road, Its sagging roof nearly hidden by trees, vines, and tall weeds. Even in the sunlight, the house appeared dark and sinister, its broken windows, like hollow eyes, glaring intently. In spite of the overwhelming feeling that we shouldn’t be here, the sound of stones hitting the house, and a radio playing upstairs, we climbed the rotting steps and slowly opened the creaky door. Suddenly, crows cawed overhead, as if warning us to turn around and run for our lives. Of course, that was all part of the thrill, our minds seeing and hearing things that weren’t really there . . . or were they?