A journal by Lisa.

Not Just a Dream

The sunlight seeps through my eyelids. I open them to tendrils of spider lily red and think – ah, this season has come around again. The season of pumpkin-orange sunsets splashed across the sides of buildings and along the roads, of deceptive warmth giving way to a long, icy winter. Wind whispers through grass. A mosquito lands on my upper arm; I swat it away. I am surrounded by green, green, green, and for a moment, everything is bathed in quiet, golden nostalgia.