Autumn tent
by Hana Augustine
 
A brisk breeze whips around the fabric of our fragile home for the night. They say houses can be set up in a day, but it takes years for them to become homes. 
 
You laid out a mat, a cake, some pillows, some plates, and made it home in ten minutes.
 
The sunflowers bloom a little brighter. Nature splashes a little more colour onto her trees, on the ground we sit, on the sky above us.
 
I pretend to read. The book is a ruse. From the corner of my eye, I’m stealing glances at you. We could eat cake till midnight, dance with the fireflies, race through the forest, free from the calls and spreadsheets and meetings, free to escape into our tent, away from it all, just for a night. 
 
Our house. Our tent. Our rules. Our little piece of forever.