Last night I walked down to the city hall with a book in hand to read on a bench under the acorn trees. The quiet courtyard was littered with smooth acorn shells, resembling rifle bullets of the most harmless kind. I listened to tree limbs moving to the wind behind the unbroken string of my muted voice reading lines of text in my head. The cool air felt like the color of the sky - silver and grey. 

It's been unseasonably warm in LA. Friends abroad have been sharing photos of leaves changing color, freshly baked apple crisps, and rainy mornings spent in wool socks, showing me the kind of October that smells of cinnamon and cloves. They get me daydreaming about cauliflower soup, about spending the night softening chopped onions in butter and thyme. But at the end of the workday, I'll walk outside and a beaming sun will greet me with a heavy bear hug and I'll want nothing but tacos and cold walls to lean bare legs against. 

Come last night - each passing hour was like a tiny bridge from summer to fall. The unapologetic sun yielded to the autumn moon, and between the lines of the crisp currents of wind, thoughts, and empty shells on the floor, I knew it's time for something new. 


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