Last night I dreamt about autumn. I haven’t been able to remember any of my dreams for a few months now. But sitting here, at someone else’s desk, I heard the comment “What nice temperature. It’s like October!” She was referring to the dark blue light cast by the clouds and the echo of the rain through the streets.

As soon as those words left her lips, my mind had left, returning to the images of my hand touching an elongated cluster of dried flowers that were still holding the end of a branch of a peculiar tree I have never seen. The colors were strange, all in an orange hue. Burnt orange. I remember thinking that it was too soon for this.

The skies they were ashen and sober;

The leaves they were crisped and sere--

The leaves they were withering and sere;

It was night in the lonesome October

Of my most immemorial year:

Labels: dream, Poe, Ulalume