Burning Leaves

Just once, every fall, I love to rake the dried leaves into a pile and light the match to watch it burn. Oh, the smell of burning leaves.

I feel the warmth of the sun, the fire, the brisk autumn air.

As I tend the fire I let my imagination run free with possibilities.


Deborah Lean.


Change of Seasons

It was inevitable that our story would come to an end. It was called a summer romance for a reason.

Across the lake the leaves are a showcase in vibrant shades of red and gold.

Yet, as I walk to the dock; I see leaves turned crisp and brown, leaves that crumble beneath my feet.



Deborah Lean.

Little Girl Playing With Autumn Leaves

An Autumn Affair

“Hi,” the little girl said. “My name is Autumn.”


Could her mother be any more obvious, I thought. “And when were you born?”


I was surprised when she answered July.


“Mommy says I was her fall baby,” she explained. “She sometimes calls me her little ‘Fall from Grace’, but really it’s Autumn, Anne.”



Deborah Lean.

the eye

It’s in the Eyes

It was the eyes that did it. As much as she was trying to hang tough and show no emotion, the eyes gave her away.

An almost indiscernable dilation of the pupils as, breaking eye contact, her gaze moved to a place beyond him.

In that moment, he knew they were no longer alone.



Deborah Lean.



Things quickly got physical, clothing cast off to fall in disarray.

Hands moving, fast and inciting, skin damp, hips thrusting, it was all action…no air, no words, no thought.

Throwing caution away on a wanting wind, lust took Mia to a final knowing bliss.


Deborah Lean


Down and Out

Down and out, a man sat against a brick, shop wall, a man living in isolation.


A human discard, ignoring social norms, flaunting his disdain, but holding a cup out, waiting for coins to drop his way.


Deborah Lean


Lying in Wait

Moonlight cast his porch into dark and dismal shadows.

His only way out, a pair of sliding doors, too risky, and too far away.

Knowing his options, all Marco could do was watch, and wait for his opportunity.

To run was cowardly, but running was survival, and living…to carry on and fight.


Deborah Lean


The Uncertainty of War

The year 1942 was not a good time for a young soldier to fall in love.

Many of the soldiers married, needing to know there was something, someone, to fight for, and to come home to.

Emotions were so intense, for no one knew how long the war might last, or what the future held.


Deborah Lean



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abused and beaten young woman crying at home

An Unexpected Turn of Events

It had been crazy, she knew, to think if she was gone from the house, the abuse would end.

What it did, was escalate.

Unable to hold down a job, angry all the time, drunk more than he was sober, her father had lost one target for his rage, and found another, her mother.



Deborah Lean.


Stay or Go

It was a time of choices.

I thought it through long and hard, and my choice was to stay committed to my marriage, to work at it, and to see it through.

I chose to trust again.

It was a nice dream… of a life lived happily ever after.



Deborah Lean.

Once upon a time

Once Upon a Time

It had been a once upon a time kind of thing. Old times now, and old memories, not to be repeated.

He had been the one to call it quits, the one who decided to walk away.

He’d left her heartbroken, with a lifetime of regret, and questions better left unanswered.



Deborah Lean.



What is this strange love-hate relationship a writer has with words?

At times, it can be joyeous, the emotional high overwhelming.

And sometimes it’s painful, punishing, fraught with doubt and despair.

Words, you fickle bitch, give me some peace. I need time to think, to debate and deliberate, to decide where you belong.


Deborah Lean.


Decisions, Decisions

When he left town, he’d left her with a broken heart.

Now he was back, older, maybe wiser and definitely dangerous to her sense of well being.

He said he loved her. Now, she had to decide, remain silent, or tell him the truth about what really happened the night he left.

What to do?



Deborah Lean.

Post It Note Paper with  Question Mark

Chance Meeting?

She found the cryptic note in a library book, just a time, a place and a date.

On a whim she decided to check it out and went to the cafe at the designated time.

Recognition was immediate. She saw the man, a volunteer from the library, stand and smile in welcome as she approached.



Deborah Lean.


Full Disclosure

“There has to be full disclosure,” the realtor said.

The client looked about the empty room with trepidation. “It was never solved?”

“No. The man and his mistress were found in her bedroom, murdered, yet the door was locked, the house undisturbed.

She smiled, thinking of her late husband. “Let me know what you decide.”


Deborah Lean.


A Spiritual Devotion

He sensed the change in the air; the gentle breeze across his face like a lover’s kiss, the scent of Soir de Paris, the echo of laughter.

She’d been murdered in that house.

He was intrigued, enthralled with a dead woman, and must decide if he wanted to, or could, live with her ghost.



Deborah Lean.

Bride and groom dancing

Come Dance with Me

What he was about to do, he thought, he did for his bride. He wanted to dazzle her when they took to the floor for that memorable first dance as man and wife.

I’ve got rhythm, I’ve got music was the mantra he repeated as he stumbled up the steps and entered the dance studio.



Deborah Lean.



They snuck out in the early hours to play in the sea, without all that parental control and caution. It was a thrill, a taste of the forbidden, an adventure.

One felt fear, yelled to his brother to come back, before they were caught.

Suddenly, he was gone, lost in the water, alone, he drowned.


Deborah Lean.


The Present

Drawn to the box wrapped in shiny red paper, he picks it up and gives it a testing shake.

He has a normal five year old’s curiosity, and unwillingness to wait.

“Can I open just one?”

“Not until Christmas morning,” his mother reminds him, smiling as he reluctantly sets the present back under the tree.



Deborah Lean.

Woman kissing boyfriend on the cheek

I’ve Got a Secret

He didn’t know. She’d kept her suspicions to herself, not wanting to see the disappointment on his face, yet again.

Her hand rested on her belly, a mother’s inherent gesture of protection, as she basked in the secret knowledge that she was pregnant.

Smiling, she walked over to her husband and whispered in his ear.



Deborah Lean.