October in the Earth

by Olivia Hawker

In the delicacy of twilight, in its rapid fade into full night, I understood the impermanence of youth and happiness, of life itself, and every moment that passed was a treasure I possessed, and each moment was of greater worth than all the fine things Irving had filled our home with—the flowered wallpaper and electric lights, the telephone, the velvet sofa and chairs. What was any of that worth, compared to this?

She leaned close to me. I thought she would embrace me, as we’d done countless times before in moments of joy or sorrow. Instead, her lips brushed against mine—light as the touch of starlight, and so briefly I was half-convinced it hadn’t happened at all. Then she turned from me abruptly and stalked up the rocky strand toward the willow grove.