Autumnal words

I'm drinking abundant amounts of apple cider, I'm writing a short story, I'm thinking that a hoodie might be necessary. I should be focusing more on the story, but I needed to put some of these words here. The first is the opening paragraph to my story, and maybe I'll keep putting pieces of it up here. The second is a poem by the illustriously absurd Andrew Gates, which I somehow inspired. I forget the story, I'm sure it doesn't make any sense though. you have my love.


(tentatively titled "to fly")
My father would bring me here after Mass sometimes. We would grab some donuts and watch the planes land and take off, struggling against the gorge’s high winds, disappearing into or appearing from the skies above. If it was clear enough we could see the stream rising off Mount St. Helen’s. He would tell me the stories of the Saints as I watched the Cessna’s, Airbuses and 737’s bounce through the air. I would ask him what the Latin words from Mass meant and he knew every word and phrase. He would tell me about different planes and try to explain how such massive machines could stay suspended in air. And at night I would dream of planes crashing into the ground.


(? - by Andrew Gates)
It's in the air...a bite...a chill...this autumn hour is upon us.
Leaves rustle in a symphony of aural bliss...this autumn hour is upon us.
The warmth of the sun is steadily negated by the winds...this autumn hour is upon us.
Sleeves on shirts, hoods and hats...this autumn hour is upon us.
Out in the field, the orchard, the plain...this autumn hour is upon us.
Hands become numb, rigorously I exhale...this autumn hour is upon us.
Creation beautifully makes its way into hibernation...this autumn hour is upon us.
Hair on my face is embraced as a shield...this autumn hour is upon us.
The process has begun, the wheels in motion...this autumn hour is upon us.
Sleep now, but haste not the winter...this autumn hour is upon us.
Embrace each moment of blissful autumn...God bless this autumn hour.