The sun sinks lower each day at a rate the body can feel. Amber bleeds across every surface for an hour at 3 p.m. and for a second, more colder hour at 4. Ice forms on the outside of the window while something inside still holds warmth. The last warm entries are written here.
At these latitudes in autumn, sunset is a slow negotiation that takes most of an afternoon. Amber, copper, deep orange, then the first blue minute — the ratio shifts by the day and is never quite the same twice.
Ice crystals form on the window from the outside overnight. The inside of the window still holds the day's heat for the first hour after sunrise. This is the last season where there is a meaningful difference between inside and outside.
What did the summer do. What was begun and abandoned. Which promises held. The autumn entries return, without announcing they are returning, to settle what earlier entries left unfinished.
A warm day in October that nobody quite believes. The body suspects a trap and the body is correct. This is the season the fragments describe as the honest face with the serpent's tail — the weather that lies in the direction of comfort.