AUTUMN IN THE CITY
By SHAWN VENASSE
Autumn in the City
In the city, autumn doesn’t arrive all at once, but drifts in on the breath of strangers, carried in scarves and wool hats in the soft rhythm of shoes tapping on concrete.
Leaves turn in whispers— not the wild blazes of country fires but quiet rusts and golds that bleed into the corners of streets, gather in the gutters like lost confessions
The air smells like old books, like rain that might come, and the wind tugs at jackets as if trying to coax us into remembering something we almost forgot.
Sidewalks crack open with the weight of old stories, and the trees—those few survivors— reach up their brittle arms, barely holding onto the sun's fading warmth, while their leaves scatter like notes from a song everyone once knew, but no one remembers the words to.
At night, the sky isn’t clear, but a muddle of neon lights, fog, and the distant hum of traffic. The stars hide behind the glow of windows where someone’s always awake, drinking tea by themselves, waiting for something to change, waiting for the first frost to bring the peace they’ve been searching for since summer’s heat melted all their best intentions.
There’s a loneliness to the way autumn settles here— in the rust of abandoned playgrounds, in the steam that curls up from subway grates, in the way the city keeps moving even as the leaves crumble underfoot, turning to dust with each hurried step.
But there’s a beauty in this decay too, in the way the wind flirts with rooftops and the dusk comes earlier, painting the sky bruised purple, then velvet black.
In the parks, where children used to laugh, only the carousel spins, its horses frozen mid-stride, waiting for spring to unfreeze their gallop. The pigeons huddle together, cooing soft secrets to the cold marble statues who watch over the city, their faces streaked with rain and time.
And still, life hums— buses wheeze, engines growl, horns pierce the evening like a saxophone in the distance. Underneath it all, the rhythm of the city doesn’t falter. It just shifts, becomes slower, like a heartbeat heavy with the weight of golden afternoons and the promise of longer nights.
Autumn in the city is a waiting room— for the storm to come, for the trees to stand naked against the skyline, for the cold that sharpens everything into focus, for the quiet that always seems just out of reach.
But for now, we walk through it, crunching leaves and days beneath our feet, as the city exhales slowly, letting go of summer
one last breath at a time.
Here are two songs created by Lalals’ Music AI without any modification, based on my prompt and the lyrics are the words from the poem. (Not all the words, but most of them. Unfortunately, not all the words would fit in the time frame permitted by the AI, but it works nevertheless.)
One song is with a female voice and the other a male voice. They are both very different and completely unique songs including in melody and cadence, but they are using the same prompt and lyrics as a jumping off point.
SONG ONE - FEMALE VERSION:
https://lalals.com/audio/a3850bf5-c536-4bc4-abfb-eb17d8df8dfa
Prompt used
A melancholic ode to Autumn, to the change in season in the city -the gray skies, the cool weather
Lyrics
In the city, autumn doesn’t arrive all at once, but drifts in on the breath of strangers, carried in scarves and wool hats in the soft rhythm of shoes tapping on concrete.
Leaves turn in whispers— not the wild blazes of country fires but quiet rusts and golds that bleed into the corners of streets, gather in the gutters like lost confessions.
The air smells like old books, like rain that might come, and the wind tugs at jackets as if trying to coax us into remembering something we almost forgot.
Sidewalks crack open with the weight of old stories, and the trees—those few survivors— reach up their brittle arms, barely holding onto the sun's fading warmth, while their leaves scatter like notes from a song everyone once knew, but no one remembers the words to.
At night, the sky isn’t clear, but a muddle of neon lights, fog, and the distant hum of traffic.
The stars hide behind the glow of windows where someone’s always awake, drinking tea by themselves, waiting for something to change, waiting for the first frost to bring the peace they’ve been searching for since summer’s heat melted all their best intentions.
There’s a loneliness to the way autumn settles here— in the rust of abandoned playgrounds, in the steam that curls up from subway grates, in the way the city keeps moving even as the leaves crumble underfoot, turning to dust with each hurried step.
But there’s a beauty in this decay too, in the way the wind flirts with rooftops
SONG TWO - MALE VERSION:
https://lalals.com/audio/11b33f39-be80-4ac9-881b-82c51fd57962
Prompt used
A melancholic ode to Autumn, to the change in season in the city -the gray skies, the cool weather
Lyrics
In the city, autumn doesn’t arrive all at once, but drifts in on the breath of strangers, carried in scarves and wool hats in the soft rhythm of shoes tapping on concrete.
Leaves turn in whispers— not the wild blazes of country fires but quiet rusts and golds that bleed into the corners of streets, gather in the gutters like lost confessions.
The air smells like old books, like rain that might come, and the wind tugs at jackets as if trying to coax us into remembering something we almost forgot.
Sidewalks crack open with the weight of old stories, and the trees—those few survivors— reach up their brittle arms, barely holding onto the sun's fading warmth, while their leaves scatter like notes from a song everyone once knew, but no one remembers the words to.
At night, the sky isn’t clear, but a muddle of neon lights, fog, and the distant hum of traffic.
The stars hide behind the glow of windows where someone’s always awake, drinking tea by themselves, waiting for something to change, waiting for the first frost to bring the peace they’ve been searching for since summer’s heat melted all their best intentions.
There’s a loneliness to the way autumn settles here— in the rust of abandoned playgrounds, in the steam that curls up from subway grates, in the way the city keeps moving even as the leaves crumble underfoot, turning to dust with each hurried step.
But there’s a beauty in this decay too, in the way the wind flirts with rooftops
I acknowledge the use of the following AI programs in the creation of this project:
ChatGPT 4.0
Adobe Express AI
Lalals Music AI without whom this project would not be possible.