Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and forty-seventh piece in this series. This week’s is a 290-worder by Jade Kennedy.
A Season of Half-Light
I once met a man who was breathing in autumn colours, a spirit of this season, and saturated in its stories, myths and magic. His hair was as black as an encroaching starless night, his eyes an icy light blue and he spoke with the warm whiskey lilt of the Irish.
He was only seen during the autumn days and no-one knew where he went for the rest of the year. We listened closely to every word he said as he was a once in a year treat. Singing songs with his guitar knee high in rusted leaves, his voice resounding deeply off the surrounding trees, ice travelled along the strings matching the notes he chose.
Enchanting songs of love and loss, of war and its pointlessness, of legends of his home – purity at their core. When he wasn’t singing of days and faces only he could name, he sat and wrote his lyrics on any paper he could find. Half-hearted or careless, he gave them away or they slipped through his fingers as he chased the turning leaves, following those golds, reds and velvet browns. Fading away like autumn mists when the trees gave nothing to the skyline but darkened, bare branches. I gathered them up like precious memories, saving as many as I could find –
…’The coldness is reaching out to claim its own again … working its way up every tree where wickedness is made and broken underneath … but my spirit and I walk afraid through this season of half-light’…
Small fragments of a man we all believed was a beautiful ghost. I didn’t know if my collection of lyrics would witness the first snowfall or turn to mist themselves like their unknowable creator.
I asked Jade what prompted this piece and she said…