Haiku On Autumn Novels & Stories

Present Day The afternoon sun transformed the world into a kaleidoscope of orange and red as it filtered through the autumn leaves. Dean sat in the garden on a wrought iron bench, his eyes closed as he looked toward the sun. He reminded me of a cat, sitting there soaking up the last rays of warmth before winter.

I wanted to smack my head against the rocky wall that I leaned against. “It’s more than horrible. I can’t love someone I can never have. Every Monday and Wednesday are simultaneously the best and worst days of my week.” I sighed, giving myself a break so I didn’t burst into tears. Ungluing my eyes from the stone wall, I traveled up to the sky. Fall was upon us now, which meant cold air and overcast skies. The atmosphere was grey and gloomy, the only color coming from the bright orange trees. I watched as a singular leaf detached from a tree and fell, swaying in the breeze before landing on the crisp autumnal grass. It wouldn’t be long before that leaf faded and became brittle, a mere memory

“I want you to imagine tomorrow morning—just another day. You wake up, brush your teeth, put on that shirt your mom says is your color—” “Blue. Because it matches my eyes, I know.” He grinned, eyes still closed. “—and you go outside, and get in your car, or maybe you walk this time. It’s an ordinary day. You’re listening to music, the sun’s shining. But then, something changes. You look out the window, and the sky…” Autumn’s voice dropped, serious. “It starts to get dark. Not just cloudy, but really dark, thick. The air feels heavy, like the whole world is holding its breath. You see it spreading over the city, almost alive, swallowing up the morning. It’s not an eclipse, not a storm. It’s s

Chapter 77 Aurora's pov This day came quietly. The kind of day autumn always brings—the air crisp enough, the trees shedding gold and amber like they were tired of holding on. Leaves skittered across the pavement, crunching under careless steps, and the sky hung low and pale, like it was holding its breath. It was the end of the semester.

The noting of the difference was the proof of duration. He stopped under the largest of the oaks — the oak that had been, in October, the tree he had stood under to look up at the autumn canopy. He looked up at the summer canopy. The summer canopy was different from the autumn canopy — denser, greener, more complete. The autumn canopy had been letting go, the leaves preparing to fall, the light coming through in patches of amber and gold. The summer canopy was holding tight, the leaves at their maximum extension, the light filtered through layers of green.

The autumn light was the kind that gilded everything, turning the fading salal around the bronze pipe to burnt copper and setting the Tidewater Trail’s wooden rails ablaze. We were in the long, gentle sigh of the year, a time of harvest and gathering in. Our own lives felt similarly settled, the frantic energy of past battles now a warm, banked fire in the hearth of our days.

“See? You think I’m insane.” Hades rumbled a little when he noticed her mood change. “I never said that. There’s nothing wrong with you.” She scoffed lightly. “There’s a lot wrong with me.” And that’s when we knew that we couldn’t broach the name subject further, or at least not now. “It’s lovely to meet you, Autumn. You have a beautiful name,” Hades complimented, trying to salvage the situation. It seemed to work as she beamed. “Thanks. You’re the only person, well wolf, who knows it.”

And Gavin—well, Gavin’s three hours away, counting down the days until graduation, already acting like he’s got one foot out the door. Gemma texted me last night: You ever feel like you’re suffocating, even when the window’s open? I didn’t know how to answer. I keep thinking about summer, the salt wind and the laughter and the promises we made, but autumn isn’t summer. –And the truth is, maybe none of us are the same anymore. The thing about autumn is that it looks prettier than it feels. Everyone talks about the leaves—red, orange, gold, the whole cliché—but no one talks about the gray sky behind them, or the way the air smells like endings.

he said quietly, stepping aside to let her through. Vaani stepped forward, and the view unfolded before her like a secret. A small, tranquil lake shimmered silver under the caress of moonlight, its still surface reflecting the silhouettes of trees like ink on glass. A great fallen trunk lay stretched across the shoreline, and as she walked, crisp maple leaves—red and gold, brittle with the touch of autumn—rustled beneath her feet like whispers from another time. “Perfect!” She beamed, turning back to Yeonho, who—perhaps without realizing it—mirrored her expression.

Because for some reason he believed; She was his responsibility. The old, yellow and brown leaves hustled in the wind, as the sounds of dead, weak trees, creak at every push the wind gave. It's the end of fall and the air is colder than an ice cube, as it climbs through my jacket to the bottom of my spine. Most of the leaves are already gone. And the sight of every living thing coming to an end, depresses me. The crumpling of the brown stiff leaves creates a home to many animals that need a place to hid during this time of empty sorrow.