Hue and Me

Ever had a feeling of being inside a painting? And not the dull ones. No, not those. I mean like the ones that have a lot of colour and vibrant hues. You know, the ones like Leonid Afremov makes. Yup, those types. Well, if you haven’t felt something like that, you haven’t seen fall in its true glory.

Everywhere you look, there are shades of orange, red and yellow, lined across. You can walk down the street and the wind would blow across your face. Not the harsh kind which makes you mad, but the slow soothing type. Almost like the wind is trying to lull you into a deep slumber.

Occasionally, you step on the dried leaves that are fallen on the ground. Just to hear them crunch under your feet… isn’t it almost divine? And as you lift your feet, the crumpled pieces of the leaf float away into the air, as if you have freed them from their captivity.

The smell of hot beverages being made coming out of almost all the houses that you pass. It’s simply intoxicating.

It doesn’t get better than that, does it? Well, for me, it does.

I walk over to a tree in the park, where I know she would be there; waiting for me under the tree, like she always did. I don’t walk up to her directly. No, I don’t want to rush and miss the sight. I just look at her for a while.
She sits there reading her book; absolutely clueless that the person she has been waiting for, is standing behind her. She even has two cups of coffee. I can almost smell the contents – Pumpkin Latte. Of course, it’s that. She wouldn’t miss a chance to get that, ever.

As I keep watching, a stray broken leaf  lands on her flowing, black hair. I guess, even the leaf couldn’t resist touching something as perfect. She brushes it off gently. I could almost feel the pain the leaf might have experienced, but sometimes things aren’t meant to be – the leaf would have to learn that.

I walk up to her and as she sensed me approach, she turned around with a smile. A smile which could, indeed, make even the colourful season seem dull. I sit next to her and look at the cup.

‘What is it?’ I knew perfectly well what the answer would be but I had to ask.

‘Pumpkin Latte,’ she had a wicked smile on her face.

‘You know I don’t like it, right?’ I say. ‘It tastes weird.’

‘Well, you know that I am going to make you drink it anyway, right?’ she says. ‘Even if it tastes weird.’

I sigh and gently slip my hand into hers. With the other one, I grab my cup and take a huge sip.
She knew that I wouldn’t say no to her. I knew that as well. It’s not that I wouldn’t. There was something about her that made sure I couldn’t, and it wasn’t just because it was going to be the last fall we would experience together.

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Inspired by a post on fall I read in the blog  – thebrunetteinthepinkscarf

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