The weather here is starting to change; darkness comes, minute by minute, earlier each night, my hands are beginning to feel cold more often than not, and it feels as if each time I step out of the house for more than a few moments I'm covered in hundreds of curled, dried up leaves from trees who are hurriedly shedding their summer feelings. Waking early fails to reveal anything much, because it's all still shrouded in mist and water, and the ground begins to let go of this as the day progresses; unwillingly, wanting to keep the clouds closer.