Notes from a Time Traveller by Elke Stevens

Today I’m living in a painting under the autumn sun;
a breeze flutters the leaves; a squirrel hides fallen chestnuts,
startled by the shuffling turtle doves holding hands on a park bench.

The leaves are getting ready to let go of the tree,
the colours painting faintly, slowly, gently,
from green to the warm and rich tones of rust, yellow, orange,
and that very deep burgundy red.

And as the paint paints a new season,
the air starts to feel different, still as warm as it feels,
but with a slightly cooler undertone that changes how the season’s perfume is tasted.

A glass of red, the smell of fresh rain on the ground can be tasted,
before the last flower stops flowering.

As the painting dances into the late hours,
the last terrace stool is left unempty on this beautiful Indian‑summer night in September.

A lingering white mist rings around the street lamp post, sweeping the painting away… As I step back and remember the day’s task.

©Elke T.B. Stevens 08/09/26