A Perfectly Chilling Morning

When I stepped outside today, long before the dawn, there was a chill in the air, sharp against the ears, that carried a certain tang to the tip of the tongue. My dog's ears tracked leaves blowing in the street like radar dishes, panning this way and that.

The sky was a river, clouds blowing across the morning moon as they rode atop the currents of the heavens. Orion stood high and proud, further over my left shoulder than he does during the warmer months. His belt shone through the swirling mists, a stoic line demarcating autumn's grip upon the world.

I looked across the street, where tiny ghosts hung from the trees like so many legless horse-thieves dangling from the gallows. They danced in the chill wind. Beside them, skeletons clawed their way out of earthen graves, their animation suspended as if the cold had taken hold of their old bones, and locked them into permanent suffering, halfway buried, halfway free.

I turned to the house next to me, and smiled at the web of the giant spider that had enveloped it, wondering how anyone could get through such a thing without an enchanted elvish blade to hack free of the fibrous netting. Then I looked at my dog, shook my head at her reluctance, and brought her back inside the house.

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Just a little bit of free writing today. Happy Monday, everyone!