Feeling wistful today. Not because I go back to work today. Not because my eldest is back to school after a brief visit. Not even because my two younger children go back to school on Monday. Wistful because I picked these up on the three block walk home from the bus stop. The trees are still green, yet there are leaves on the ground. Just a few, here and there. Not all over the ground. Not the crisp, crunchy, crackling carpet that is to come. Which, I admit, I love - it's one of my favourite sounds, that whish and crackle round my feet as I kick through the drifts of leaves. But it's coming. Fall is coming. And, while I love the soft amber light of warm autumn afternoons, though I relish cool, crisp mornings, though I glory in the blaze of colour that is autumn in this part of the world, autumn is also the harbinger of winter. The fading of the light. Long nights, crackling-with-cold days. It's not the loss of warmth that makes me wistful, though, it's the fading of the light. Evenings that start at 3:00 in the afternoon, full dark by 4:00. Sunrise at 8:00. I mourn the fading of the light.