I forgot about October. I forgot about the crisp air tinged with woodsmoke and burning leaves.
I forgot about the way the marine layer creeps before daybreak and settles in the hollows and along the rivers and creeks.
I forgot how the clouds blush pink when the morning sun rises over the mountains. Today is bright and clear and the leaves swirl all red and gold, high contrast with the deep ferns and lush green grass.
Crows need no shadows as they light in crimson-leaved branches, caw, caw. The big orb weaver spiders spin their last webs before winter, and ducks fly in pairs.
The geese haven’t started their long skeins across the sky yet; the pumpkin vines haven’t melted from the first fall frost; the trees haven’t completely removed their autumn finery but I can smell winter coming. It smells like cold water from the mountains.
I forgot about October and ripe apples, baking bread, salmon, and the last blooms of the roses.