Clarisse McClellan's Daughter

This ficlet was both prompted and sponsored by the lovely ysabetwordsmith. Her prompt 'the gold dust scent of newly-harvested fields in the fall' inspired a piece that became nothing short of a love note to southeastern Wisconsin. Here 'tis.


It's easy to tell, if you've grown up with certain details tickling your nose or even if you've only recently gotten used to the scents of a region, just when autumn's arrived.

The strawberries smooshed into earth and straw, the lily pad clustering of rhubarb leaves, the pervasive scent of new-mown grass and the sweet corn standing in rustling rows span June, July and August, and maybe the raspberries do start appearing before the equinox has rolled around. But it's the whisper of downed leaves skittering on the pavement keeping time with the rattle of dried corn husks in mazes, the achingly final tiny crunch of remnant soybean stalks underfoot, inch-high and dried where they were shorn, the sharp sweetness of a thousand apples and mums, and the lingering scent of harvested grain on the air that really signal the depths of autumn.

Pumpkins and gourds, a dozen recipes for as many squash and the unmistakable tandem smells of burning leaves and laid fireplace fires walk only half a step behind their fellows. The hint of solemnly waving marsh grass and the darkest of orange-red marigolds follow on, clutching at the hems of the coats the earlier arrivals only just unearthed from the depths of their closets. You don't have long to wait if you're looking for peppermint and the scent of snow, and if the taste of icicles broken from a roof's edge are more your speed, hang around. Wait ten minutes, so the saying goes.

Wait ten minutes, because right now it's autumn on the oak savannah, welcoming, desolate, marvelous. Don't bother brushing the cinnamon from your fingers if you stay; there'll be more atop the apple pie. Just make sure to wipe the frost off your windows in the morning, settle in and enjoy yourself.

We do.


I have my first sponsored fic. Eeeeeee eeeee! Bedanct, Ysabet.