emptyharbour

I spent the morning loading up the car. I can see my breath all the time now, and my fingers grow numb quickly in muted Autumn light. Dying leaves afoot; accusing trees whisper at me with every puff of Western wind called down from the mountains. It's Fall - the death of a year and the most marked change of any of my seasons. I used to love the Fall. This year, it feels more like some aged postcard; worn and yellowed and devoid of any sort of real warmth or experience.

I'm gone, for awhile. I don't know where I'm going. I'm not sure it matters.