Leaves float past the window, floating on chilled air, languid and brown.
The tree across the street waves its branches at me, green and brown, brown and green.
Bright mornings no longer mean warm days. Bright afternoons no longer draw me to the park.
Skirts grow longer, jumpers warmer, legs and arms slowly vanishing again.
Hello Autumn, back again. Familliar to me now, expected, unsurprising.
Somehow, not just another one of those things.