My Cardboard Balcony

Savoring the Season by Belinda Roddie Your fingers are as spicy as a cinnamon stick, autumnal bliss before a personal kiss. Webs as thick as molasses entwine our two lives, as we extract heavy honey from our family hives. The crunch of leaves accompanies caramel on cups, while the pumpkin drips upon our lips are good pick-me-ups. Still, my favorites are your fingers, with their tang as hot as splinters, while we strive to eat the best fall treats before the mint of winter.

"How much time do we have left?" I asked. Rose looked at her watch. "Eleven minutes." We continued to sit in the empty classroom, wondering when the teacher would return. If we really wanted to, we could bolt for the door right now, ditch this dismal detention once and for all. Something, however, kept me in my seat, staring at the blank whiteboard in front of me. Rose didn't seem to want to move, either, her fingers moving closer and closer to my side of the table.