We had frost Saturday night.
I found it forming on the car windows when I left work sometime after midnight, the cold waking me up on the short drive home.
And though I slept late, I saw it clinging to grass in the shaded hollows of my neighbor’s yard.
Saturday I raked the leaves that blow across from the apple tree that hangs over the alley; pulled old zucchini and tomato and green beans out of the weed-filled garden; and turned those leaves into the wet earth. Squirrels ran busy up the street, mouths bulging with treasure to store up.
Mud clung to my shoes and a breeze blew clouds across the sky, sunlight coming now and again.
When I parked outside while the frost formed on the grass, the sky was clear, stars blinking overhead. Lamplight filled the front window.
I didn’t wait to watch the stars.
We watch football Sunday afternoon and I eat too many candy corns (and how can something that is simply sugar and corn syrup be so good?) and it’s dark when the game ends.
Night falls early, now.
Jasmine dances across the floor, all energy; Alaska settles against my chest, falls asleep to my own slow breathing.
I’ve pulled the curtains closed against the dark, against the chill settling into the air.
It’s dark when the alarm blares early; rain comes today and the sun again tomorrow and I plan my chore list by the weather: laundry on the sunny day, cleaning on the rainy day.
There aren’t many days of line-drying left in the year.
I’m wearing sweaters now, and looking for a fireplace screen to keep Jasmine off our faux-logs, eager to light the gas fire every night.
It’s time for hot chocolate, and marshmallows, and staying home.
October is passing quickly, days falling past like the leaves from the apple tree that hangs over the alley.