Seven Days In
The air is cold, filled with a bright, directionless light. Fallen leaves swirl and flutter, clustered in hollows and damp puddles. Some fiery colors still linger -- but the saturation level is definitely getting dialed down.
Seven days into November, and I'm washing sweaters and sipping tea, on a quiet day off from work. Tasting Winter on my tongue.
Seven days into November, and I'm washing sweaters and sipping tea, on a quiet day off from work. Tasting Winter on my tongue.
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