The air bit at my cheeks and the wet leaves crunched and shuffled as I scoffed my feet through them, a fine bed of yellow and red that scattered briefly from my passing and brought a scent to my nose, the sharp, sickly sweet, unmistakable scent of childhood autumns, of raked mountains, apple cider and glazed doughnuts. I began to feel ill tonight, which is always a sign that the wind has changed and that the season has truly moved on, so it was off to bed early in the hope of beating it before it came to full bloom.