4 Seasons Dublin -

Autumn is the season of harvest, but also of rot. She learned that some loves are not meant to survive the frost. They are annuals, not perennials. Beautiful. Brief. True, for their time.

She returned to the old man on Clanbrassil Street. He was still there, on his crate, though now the pigeons were fewer. His name, she learned, was Mr. Singh. He had come from Punjab forty years ago, had run a corner shop, buried a wife, outlived two sons. 4 seasons dublin

She sat on a bench near the fountain, which was turned off for the season. A girl, maybe seven years old, ran past with her father, chasing a football. The girl fell. She didn’t cry. She got up, brushed her knees, and kicked the ball again. Autumn is the season of harvest, but also of rot