The cold is creeping in slowly this year. Leaves flash fiery orange and red at the end of the day, the literal color of the sunset. Autumn expressing its role as sunset of the calendar year, the last dying embers before the bitter winter shadows come howling in from beyond.
I stand outside, breath visible in the wind as an ethereal swirl of fog, and breathe in. The air smells as though kissed by smoke. Rain coming, the leaves above my head play their windsong, and children in sweatshirts and boots run laughing through the street.
Looking up, past the trees, the clouds shift from stark white to a melancholy gray, signaling the coming storm. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I retreat inside to warmth.
This is my favorite time of year.