A realisation of Autumn – and a question…

That lady had brown eyes; the shop assistant.                                                                   She smiled and rustled the bag with a glint.                                                                           I went on my way, a hand in my pocket, as I crossed the road, and dragged my feet.

My watch says I should leave; its red second hand.                                                       A breeze on my face as my hands turn too cold.                                                         Imagine my luck, the path is now littered, in cases so small, right below my feet.

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Then all at once I see; that brown again.                                                                       Different to before though no less stirring.                                                                         Then now it begins, wholesome excitement, as my hat is conquered, in October wind.

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As I look at the conkers.                                                                                                 “Cool, great” I think.                                                                                                           “Yes, I’ve got it…. that’s what I’ll write about”                                                                         My phone barely has time to blink.                                                                               Literally tickled as I move my palm across it.                                                                 When in an instant,                                                                                                         Flash… Flash… Flash… and the conkers are remembered forever.                           Stirring questions in my mind, like a big vat is stirred at a factory.

Indeed, if I may be so bold as to think, “what a strange word”.                                         And why is it so called?

Conker?”                                                                                                                                Is it because it…

Conkers the paths?                                                                                                     Conkers this season?                                                                                                 Conkers the imaginations of kids in the yard?                                                             Conkers my thoughts?

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Or perhaps, my friend, yours.                                                                                           After just having perhaps partaken, in this little adventure.

By Amanda Lynsdale


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