Autumn Outside The Post Office Novels & Stories

The shop windows are decorated with pumpkins, scarecrows, and cornstalks. The air is filled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies, crisp fall leaves, and bubbling stew. I stop walking. "It's so... cute." "Right?" Gregory takes my hand in his, and even though the touch is shocking I don't resist it. Instead, I allow myself to be led down the street and to a coffee stand. "Do you like cider?" he asks me. "Who doesn't?" The girl behind the counter is wearing a plaid dress and apron. She looks like she's in her early twenties. "Hi Gregory. What can I get for you?"

I turned and went to wait for the car. The evening air outside was cooler than I'd expected, the particular September cool of a city that has been holding onto summer too long and has finally accepted the argument for autumn. I stood on the front steps of the estate while Gio brought the car around and breathed it in, the outside air, the air that had not been conditioned and recirculated and filtered through the particular atmospheric pressure of rooms where things were alwaysslightly below the surface of what was being said. My phone buzzed.

I look around the station, wondering where we are going. It's late afternoon now, the sun is starting to set through the huge windows above us, giving off a warm light which mixes with the cool autumn breeze blowing through here and there. The station is pretty empty. It looks like most people went home hours ago or just came from work early. I can't see anyone else here. He notices me staring and gives me an apologetic look. "Sorry. I guess we got caught up talking." I shrug. "No problem. We're always busy talking anyway."

Margarita is reviewing the last contract for a product delivery and just told me I could go home. I turn off my computer, slowly gather my things, and leave the office. For a moment, I pause by the panoramic window that makes up the wall along the hallway leading to the reception area. What a fantastic view of the almost autumn landscape! The city looks breathtaking in the evening light. The sun shines softly now, preparing to set, while people wrap up their work and head outside for warm evening walks.

Before I could say another word, the line disconnected, leaving behind nothing but the hollow beeping tone. The cold grew sharper and sharper, carving straight into my bones. Gritting my teeth, I pulled the blanket tighter around myself. Suddenly, my phone lit up with a notification. I turned my head slightly and saw that Morgan had just updated his social media. In the photo, he wore nothing but a thin short-sleeved shirt with a popsicle hanging from his mouth. 'So lucky Ms. Sheffield brought me a generator, or I would have frozen tonight too.' I stared at the picture for a long time.

The Morelli mansion in autumn was a completely different place than the one she had visited in a delicate rose-scented evening of May. The old oaks that flanked the driveway had turned colors deep amber and copper-rust and most typically burnt gold of October doing its most intentional work and the scent of the place was woodsmoke and wet earth with something sweetly fermenting in the orchard beyond the east garden. The sky was the definite shade of blue that only comes after the first cold nights, a clean and vertiginous blue which invariably makes the objects under it look more like themselves.

BAB 97 — THE END OF AUTUMN Two months had passed since Chatrine’s departure. Liam’s days no longer felt the same. And yet somehow, everything at the gallery continued running smoothly. Like the world slowly finding its balance again after disaster, nature always seemed to discover a way to heal itself. Autumn in Canterbury had begun to age. Maple leaves scattered across the front yard of the Conelli family home, piling softly along the stone path leading toward the white fence. The morning air felt cold and damp, carrying the familiar scent of wet earth.

I need to be a more caring hostess. The post office was quiet and empty. Four o'clock is the end of the working day. Around seven this town will calm down until morning. Inside, at one of the three computer desks, a teenager in large headphones was sitting, he did not pay any attention to the loud slamming of the door behind me. I stomped at the entrance, shaking the snow off my feet, and went straight to the mailboxes where my aunt and I rented a box. The postman leaned over the counter to get a better look at me.

he said. Outside the Court Street morning was doing its October thing. The trees were turning. The season shifting. I finished the cold coffee. Opened the bakery for the day.

"Come on. I've been looking forward to this for so long." I glance outside the window, wondering where we are. "We're still on campus," Kaziel says as I reach for the door, opening it. The car is parked near a small, charming spot at the edge of campus that I've never really paid attention to before. There's a tiny glass booth under an old oak tree, its walls lined with colorful envelopes and postcards. A small wooden sign above it reads: "Letters to Forever. Write one today, read it tomorrow... or in ten years."