It’s my favorite month, usually. At its best, up here in the mid-fortyish degrees of latitude, the weeks play out a crisp and creeping transition, as colder and colder breezes shake the leaves, as the twilights deepen to royal purple and the sun rises in bands of blushing pink and molten tangerine, and these in-between times seem to last for hours, just…
© 2024 Scott Lynch
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