September has not paved the way into the autumn months the way I thought it would, leaves curled on the ground, trees russet and crimson and a coolness in the air. The autumn we’re sold each year, written in thick liner on a Starbucks cup and wrapped in a tartan scarf has not yet arrived….
I live on a rather peaceful, quiet street. The kind where, as the days are become shorter, the evenings are drawn out and silent, punctuated with a hollow whistle of the wind against the window pane and the dark night illuminated in that dusky amber glow of the street lamps. Oh these autumn months, wrapping…