The Witch's Lover
We jettisoned the secret offer sent by Spring — a potential error, but who needs crocuses and tree nubs when fallen oak leaves, all damp and black, make the best hats? So we witches, in our sweet time, held the hourglass until dinner, when Autumn’s arrival at our table was met with furtive glances and just the slightest knocking of knees. Spring may be innocent and pure, but Autumn, dear Autumn, we swoon for thee.
Another OneWord; it makes me write strange things. At least I'm writing!