This is how autumn feels: the sun that was so constant, slipping suddenly into beams I go outside to bask in, conscious now that they are precious. A walk in the forest where I notice all at once that the great noise of my walking is the carpet of heart-shaped yellow leaves.
Fine filaments stretch across even the paved road. I see them, but let them break across my face anyway: fall is spiders, and they’ll have respun these webs by the time I come back through.
It was summer last week, I could swear it, too hot to sit out in the sun. But this is rain-season, slug-season, gray-green banana slug pulling inch-long eyestalks in, indignant I am walking on its trail.
It’s early to call it fall; we have days yet of sunshine. I need another of those sunny days to pull the honey from my hive of bees. But it’s not too soon to notice: the sun is out this moment, this hour. The moss and leaves all rain-soaked smell dark and sweet.