Sketching, Writing 101

The Autumn Truth

 Ben Moore

They stepped on the path buried under rustling dry leaves.

“How nice,” he thought and drew a deep breath. “I love the autumn smells.” He took his wife’s hand. “I never thought we would make it through, after all these quarrels and squabbles. I feel so peaceful. Finally, it came”.

They walked past a shabby wooden bench where he loved to sit and watch the ducks fighting for bread crumbs in the little green lake. “Not this time.” He sighed and threw a glance at an old woman who occupied the bench. She was knitting, holding a skein of red wool on her lap and every minute readjusting her glasses that kept slipping down the nose.

“I need to have them fixed,” the old woman muttered to herself. “People stare at me because of this stupid thing. And I will never finish this sweater.“

“We’ll probably have a baby.” The man squeezed his wife’s hand. “A little girl in a red sweater. She will run in this park, and I will teach her to feed the ducks”. The man brushed away a tear and looked at his wife.

The woman looked back at him, then frowned and turned away. “What a cry baby! Never is able to pass by an old bag not thinking about his own death! I am the one with cancer.” She picked up a yellow maple leaf and twirled it. “I think it’s time to tell him.”



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