Aah
It's already in the air. The smell of frost and the sound of skittering leaves. Pretty soon the trees will be bare and their branches will be silhouetted like gnarled witch fingers against the sky. I can almost hear the dead echo of them scraping together, murmuring their worries to an uncaring October moon. Sooner than I can think my whole world will smell like ripe pumpkins, sick sweet on the breeze, the sharp icy smell of pending frost, and the soft rotted undercurrent of fallen leaves. What a great time to be in New England.
It's a small comfort when my patience for the place I'm living is rapidly growing thin. When calming down and dealing with it fails to be an option. Paul and I need a place that's ours and ours alone, where there's no need to deal with other people's habits or meddling. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, but I doubt it.
It's a small comfort when my patience for the place I'm living is rapidly growing thin. When calming down and dealing with it fails to be an option. Paul and I need a place that's ours and ours alone, where there's no need to deal with other people's habits or meddling. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, but I doubt it.