When driving home from the grocery store on Thursday, I drove straight past our house and took a short jaunt through the edge of our town as the sun was setting. The small grasp at solitude (home was not the noisy place I was fleeing, but the boisterous tones of a classroom of teenagers) to hear the remainder of a song allowed me to notice the quickly decreasing minutes of light in our days, the piles of leaves collecting in gutters and my jacket that has found its home for the season, on the back seat, ready for the case of a sudden drop in temperature that happens on cue around 4:30 in the afternoon. We are in the fullness of my favourite time of the year, the season I pine for while the days are long and hot. Autumn is almost over, before I've come to say my piece.
The leaves are thicker than a rug, covering parts of our yard and drifting about on the verandah. I will get around to raking them, but till then I'm glad to let them play their ode to the coming of winter as they flitter in the slightest breeze.