The last fingers of autumn prostrate themselves before the winter breeze. A small woman coming the other way starts in the middle of a conversation, something about seven degrees. I put my thoughts down on the footpath, shake them free of my ears, and straighten my eyes for her. “I beg your pardon?” I say politely Her face has a pointiness leading in to chubby cheeks and her brows are the sort that squint indefinitely. She hasn’t really stopped. “Tuesday and Wednesday,” rushes her tongue “top of seven. We just have the worst climate!” Her head is shaking earnestly. I smile and nod and utter some non-words of agreement. We pass each other, then and it’s only when I get home that I remember where I left my thoughts two hundred metres back, icing over as evening falls.
Something about Seven
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Out of the Cave 
Not icy here yet 🙂
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Well, no. We’ve only had a couple of frosts. But you know how it is… poetic licence and all that. 🙂
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I’ve been caught out by people walking by me, talking, and I reply to them, and it turns out they’re wireless on earbuds and a mobile phone. 😂 But I’m curious as to what you were thinking?
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I don’t honestly remember. But I have been trying to figure put a second short story I could write. 🤔
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Some folks always give me the chills.
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Lol. This woman was very adamant about her view. I actually didn’t agree but my hands were cold and I wanted to get home.
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I love your poem. The cold definitely does something to the way we think. It’s been getting progressively colder here as the day wears on. My computer tells me it is now 9 degrees. My thoughts are icing over too. 🙂
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Thanks, Suzanne. Just one of those little encounters that stay in your head. Sure is cooling down!
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