Novel & Cerita Haiku On Autumn

When she finished, she read it over once, then rolled the paper tightly and secured it with a thin piece of twine. Autumn walked to her window and pushed it open. The cool night air rushed in, bringing with it the scent of pine and earth. She made a soft clicking sound with her tongue, and within moments, a shadow passed over the moon. A bird swooped through the open window and landed gracefully on the sill. It was a raven… large and black as midnight, with intelligent eyes that gleamed in the candlelight. "Hello, Lia," Autumn said softly, reaching out to stroke the bird's head. The raven cooed and leaned into her touch. "I have a little task for you."

I’d never known them and only spoken to them the few times this summer. The walk up to the House after work that day was the loneliest I’d known. I didn’t notice the late summer colours forming, the swifts collecting on the electricity cables, chattering and practising their departure, the squirrels hunting nuts, and the chill in the air as the autumn mists collected over the sea. It must have all been there. It’s there every October. This was the first October that I had carried such a heavy burden of doubts with me.

I need to chill out now. We were making our way back to my mansion. As we rode onward, my gaze drifted to our surroundings. The road beneath us was rough and rocky. On both sides of the path, towering trees stood close together, their branches framing our passage. It was autumn, and the season had already begun to claim its due. Leaves fell gradually from the trees, spiraling gently to the ground, while others had already shed most of their foliage, leaving behind bare, skeletal limbs reaching toward the sky.

"And it's also the most right-feeling frightening thing I've encountered since walking through the gate of this packhouse for the first time." Petra sat down on the edge of the chair. "Then it's probably the right direction," she said. "Probably," I agreed. Outside, the autumn was beginning its slow, certain work on the trees — the first suggestions of colour appearing at the edges of the pine line, the world doing what it always did, turning toward the next thing without asking whether you were ready. I had never been entirely ready for any of it. I had learned to go anyway.

Beneath the ruins, the earth groaned. The voice returned. Not shouted. Not whispered. It spoke directly into the marrow of every living being present. “The hive was a shadow. A rehearsal.” Autumn lifted her head slowly, eyes burning, tears streaking down her dirt-stained face. “Show yourself,” she said hoarsely. “You’ve taken enough.” The chasm widened.

Through the window, he could vaguely see a young man driving. His pride stopped him from chasing after her for an explanation, but the question haunted him all the way home. "Is it because I have nothing right now?" Back home, he pulled a poetry collection from the shelf. Inside was a bookmark made from a neatly pressed sycamore leaf. Written on it in black ink was: [O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being.] He tucked the bookmark into his collection of European poetry, right on the page of John Keats' On First Looking into Chapman's Homer.

Unfortunately, he could no longer see, even if everything was as normal as ever. Taking his hand, she gently wrote, 'Yes, it's beautiful. The sky is so blue, the clouds so pure white, because it's autumn now, so the leaves fall in abundance.' After describing all the scenery, she even picked up a dry leaf and placed it in his hand. Tom Hulce smiled calmly; these were things he had seen before, but he had never paid attention, constantly feeling too ordinary. He used to look at them every season, but now... His finger caressed the leaf gently, and suddenly, a misty layer of moisture appeared in his eyes.

Edeline Outside, the moon had finally risen above the treetops, casting a soft glow that filtered through the leaves, which fluttered and danced in the gentle breeze. Autumn was approaching, its presence evident in the crisp air and falling leaves. The moonlight illuminated my room with a calming, ethereal glow. I stared up at the moon, wishing for healing, hoping for strength. I needed to develop a stronger will. I pleaded silently for a solution, for a way to address all the mistakes and find a path through this painful situation.

The air had a crispness to it that morning, the kind that hinted at the approaching shift of seasons. Summer was slipping away, its warmth receding into the past, and autumn was slowly unfurling its golden hues across the horizon. It was the kind of day that felt both reflective and hopeful, a perfect backdrop for the next chapter of our lives.

The Hollowing comes to me in the lane outside the cartographer's building on a morning when the light is doing its sharpest thing — the particular quality of autumn sun in a city that knows how to hold it, angled and amber and absolutely without sentiment about the cold it carries. I am alone.