Colours of Autumn

He saw her. And he saw Autumn. He saw autumn - in her, with her, through her, around her, and one with her.

After a few lifetimes' wait, the strange girl in the narrow lane turned around and looked into his eyes Into him, through him.

Blue.

Her eyes. The sky. A crystal clear blue. Pale, calm. Set in a space ahead, a time ahead, full of promises. A glint of wisdom that came with the understanding of death, also the inevitability of winter. Blue were her eyes. And so was the sky.

Yellow.

A breeze fluttered the trees' leaves. The blue of her eyes flitted to a yellow leaf, ripe and ready. He saw the leaf. Yellow. He saw a butterfly. Yellow. He saw her dress, fluttering. Yellow.

Orange.

The wind didn’t stop. It toyed with her hair. He struggled to place the shade. Red? Or was it Copper?

She helped him. She walked, aside, to the trees. Picked a fallen leaf. Placed it on her hand. Made a wish and blew it away. Her hair, and the leaf - he was now sure - orange.

Red.

Red hot. The flowers on a distant tree. Some berry that came late for season. Her lips twitched to a sad smile. He saw them all. Red.

Brown.

A blink was all it took. In the moment his eyelids came together, she went away. She became one with the dirt, beneath her feet. Brown. The dirt stretching out to the distant path ahead. Brown. And he was left with memories, and her brown dust.

He walked ahead. He had seen her. He had seen autumn.

She was his autumn.