Scents of forgotten winters, of rain and of sadness. I dread the snowflakes, swirling down towards my face. Pinching, hard. The forest is all mould and twigs and bare – sharp smells of earth and decay. Fuel for coming summers.
When I walk I feel my fingers tingling. I hide them, but there’s nowhere for them to go. But there is darkness, warm darkness cloaking me from every side. A wall between me and the city. A portal to the otherworldly. A bush rustles and my heart jumps… primeval fear.
But I’m alone. Me and a dying landscape.
It’s autumn.