The leaves have turned and fallen. They make crisp, shuffling noises beneath my feet.
I spent what felt like a long time teaching the sweet, Spanish girl in my office the word “deciduous”, saying it over and over again until she got it. Her mouth is not quite the right shape for the vowel sounds but she gets close enough to understand.
The sky this afternoon was blue with grey and white fluffy clouds but the sun couldn’t quite be bothered to shine. It, too, is nestling in ready for the winter.
I picked an enormous leaf out from under my car wipers on the way into work. I discarded it in the traffic, the rolling cloud of steam from my exhaust catching my eye in the wing mirror. I wish I’d kept it now, stuck it in my office window or on my whiteboard.
He sent me his writing again. It’s beautiful but it makes me sad; he talks about how I used to love his warmth and his hot hands.
I haven’t quite had to put the extra thick lining inside my coat. It’s a fleece so soft it reminds me of baby animals. I’m not normally one for practical clothes but this is definitely sensible. Although I got my new scarf stuck in the zip, the super soft fabric too tempting for the teeth. I felt less sensible then, getting help to take my coat off over my head, tangled in my torn scarf.
It’s dark already. Before long I will be opening the blinds before I leave for work and closing them as soon as I get home.
The blanket on the sofa is new but old. It’s made from recycled wool and has a beautiful red check. I like to nestle under it, even when it’s not cold. Maybe it’s because I come from a town that used to be famous for its blankets. The mill has long since closed and been turned into flats but I still remember the smell of the wool and the noise of the looms.
I’m looking forward to the cold really closing in; to bright blue mornings, sugared car windows, frozen puddles and spiced wine. And hot hands.