CategoryProse

Autumn Camp

Autumn Camp Emma Wells Crisp leaves orbit in hypnotising flares of gold, crimson and velvety brown. They form carpeted forest floors at my feet. My favourite time of year: autumn. Autumn always outstrips medals from the other three contesting seasons, without fail.  It is the sensory overload — the chill breeze that cools after heady sun-filled August days. Its tones lace around wrists and ankles like whispers, building momentum until there are splashes of life everywhere, like a messy canvas. […] Continue Reading

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