Soggy Leaves

He ran across the mosaic.

The patchwork mish-mash of faded browns reds and yellows.
It was like a carpet under him.
Nothing was crisp or crunchy now, this was the back end of autumn.
All was squelchy and sodden, it all reminded him of something.

Yes. These leaves, these flattened autumn leaves were like soggy cornflakes.
Cornflakes soaked in their milk, their crunchiness gone but edible all the same.
He supposed his feet were like spoons.

The ground lay covered where ever he ran.
Along the canal.
Around the school sports field.
On the other side of the train line
And along the path by the pond.

The scenery was still so vivid to him.
The trees were still not bare.
A breeze here and there sprinkled the air with new flakes that wafted down to the floor.

How dull a concrete life would be.
How much he preferred this jotunheim.

The leaves, the air, the leaves. All gave him energy.
Dogs could be dodged, bridges could be ducked, and puddles kicked straight through.

These soggy leaves.
They left him full and satisfied.

These soggy leaves.