I walk quickly, leaves crunching beneath my feet and sticking madly to my boots as if their lives depend on it. Looking down at the ground becomes a blur of red, orange, and yellow, repeated over and over again.

I look up to see the trees with their bare branches and remaining leaves holding on. I can't help but think how close it is to the new year already, despite it still not even being Halloween. It's nearing the end of October and I haven't even watched a scary movie yet.

I can still remember being a kid during fall, almost more than any other season. Maybe it's something about the bright colors and crisp air, or maybe that isn't true at all. It's more about the moments remembered rather than the season they're in, I guess.

I could never imagine living somewhere that didn't really have seasons. They're like a marker. A quarterly wake up call throughout the year of how much time has actually passed. One minute you're so caught up in what's going on in the present that you don't realize it's been months since you last noticed the time of year. The next minute you let yourself take a deep breath for the first time in what feels like ages.

I can't really remember being a kid during fall. All I remember is bright colors, pumpkin patches, and the strange feeling that the world was turning a bit slower than it had in summer.

I climb the steps. I can feel the leaves stuck to the bottom of my shoes. Once I reach the landing, I scuff my boots along the carpet repeatedly until my legs feel sore. The leaves dig deep into the carpet, a tattered cluster of red, orange, and yellow. I go to make a cup of tea and don't look back.