You press your face to the window. The leaves on the tree outside are an array of colors. Yellow like the glow of a setting sun. Orange like a flame. Burgundy like a carnation. You watch as the leaves rustle ever so slightly in the wind. Your eyes follow a leaf falling from its branch. It falls to the ground softly.

Pulling your face away, you lift your fingers and move your hand, unlocking the window latch. A breeze hits your face; it smells like wet earth after it has rained.
You sit on the couch and are hit with the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla from the candle you lit a few minutes ago. Wrapping yourself in a blanket, you pick up the remote and put on a show about a single Mom addicted to coffee raising her daughter. You have been addicted to this show since you were a teen and watch it every fall as it’s a classic.
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