Dear K,
My season has come again, now is the time when I run underneath trees shedding leaves, and laugh at the ending of everything. I was built for setting suns and longer nights. I wear jackets and blow frost breath at the full full moon, and streetlights are reflected on my eyes as I race beneath them cackling in the dark.
I am well, my life goes well, things here are swell. The winds and rains are coming more swiftly now and everything is starting to be put into its place for winter. Shutters are shutting. Clutter starts cluttering, and nobody can stop uttering those simple omens of doom and portents of ill tidings.
But we all die each winter don't we? Just a little bit like the leaves? They come back faithfully in the spring, and are pretty when they lie broken on the ground.
None of this made sense, but that's September wine for you.
-K
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