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Who are you?
by
Nick Sales
Late autumn is seen through windows. The time of sadness has already settled
down on pavements of a city.
Grey skies, hiding us from the rest of the world, want to cover dim buildings
with wet veil.
Umbrellas becomes compulsory accessories to long, gloomy coats. The sun
reluctantly takes over the moon.
In a Saturday morning the streets are empty. Some people didn't get up yet, and
others just don't want to plunge into the cold world.
You can hear only chirps of a broom. Time seems to stop. On this landscape
appears a dark stroke.
In a black coat she stays stock-still, as if didn't want to disturb a motionless
picture. On her face is sorrow,
seemly the season. Looks like autumn took a human form. Her look is directed at
my window. "Who are you?" - shouts something inside.
The unfamiliar face looks very recognizable. From the huge high-rise building
she picked out just my window.
Standing under an old skeleton of a pine, she invites into autumn. We look at
each other for a long time. In a jiff,
I snatch my coat and rush down the stairs to the exit. Breathing could air, I
head to the naked pine. But there isn't anybody...
Standing one minute ago, the woman disappeared. "Who are you?' - breaks again.
Why did the stranger arouse such an interest? And where
did she go? So many questions are left by an innocent look at my window.
It seems she came to tell goodbye...
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