Autumn Outside The Post Office Novelas e Histórias

Outside the summer flowers and leaves droop under the weight of the droplets. We've had so much heat lately that I'd almost forgotten this feeling, the cool freshness in the breeze. Come late autumn I won't be nearly be so impressed with the rain in whatever way it falls; it will be as ubiquitous as the lousy sit-coms and weight-loss advertisements. But for August it's such a novelty that I find myself sitting on the front porch, coffee in hand, watching the drips as they fall from beneath the guttering. Simply being

“It’s a nice spring day. I bet that will be nice for your delivery routes.” “It will be,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t rain this afternoon.” Mercy looked up at the sky and only saw white puffy clouds. “I don’t think it looks like rain.” “You never can tell in the springtime around here,” he said with a laugh, hurrying on to the post office. She waved goodbye and headed on down the street to the coffee house.

They came out through the courthouse's main entrance into the afternoon. October light. The particular quality of late autumn sun in a city — low and warm, angled in a way that made ordinary things look slightly more themselves than usual. The steps were crowded with press and with people who had gathered outside during the verdict and were now moving with the particular energy of a crowd that has been waiting for something and received it. She did not stop for any of it.

Her blue scrubs are slightly wrinkled, and she’s carrying a plastic bag that can only contain one thing at this ungodly hour. Gas station food. The only cuisine available after midnight in this town. Tall, pale, glasses slightly sliding down her nose — Autumn looks exactly like what she is: exhausted, sharp-eyed, and approximately three sarcastic comments away from starting trouble. Her big blue eyes find mine over the rims of her glasses. “There she is,” Autumn says dryly. “My favorite future runaway bride.” I gasp softly. “Shh — walls have ears.” “Good,” she deadpans. “Let them be uncomfortable.”

"Fine, fine! No more jokes. The first plan is the strongest. We’re backed into a corner; it’s our only move." Logan remained silent, his brooding expression saying enough. Autumn had descended upon the mist-shrouded Citadel. The forest leaves were turning to fire and gold, and the nights were growing long. By the time the work bells rang, the sun had already slipped below the jagged horizon.

“So?” Steve let the woman beside him fall silent. He does not tell Fiona the continuation of the story but lets the woman remember the incident at the Mariposa Hotel. However, Fiona remains upset if she only works in the company last night, is covered by reporters, and then returns to her apartment unit. She forgot the moment from getting off work until she was finally attacked by reporters. October is the height of autumn. Dry fallen maple leaves fill the streets, creating an aesthetic impression while carving out the momentum of joy and sorrow simultaneously. The raindrops were still falling, but not to the point of flooding the streets.

A cold smile spread upon my lips. Eula had brought it upon herself. She had no one but herself to blame. I took a deep breath as I pushed all those thoughts to the back of my mind. The bell suddenly rang as it interrupted my train of thought. I slowly put my phone into my backpack. My gaze swept over the summer scene outside the window. It was such a lovely season.

By the time we got to the car, he was giggling and breathless, dragging his small suitcase behind him with dramatic flair. Once I’d loaded him in and buckled his seatbelt, we pulled out of the driveway. The trees were just starting to turn at the edges—flickers of orange and red creeping in like shy guests at a party. The light filtering through the windshield was soft. Autumn was coming, slow and golden. Halfway down the long road back toward Silverclaw, Aiden fell quiet. I let the silence stretch, waiting. Finally, I asked, “How’s your mom doing?”

"Way more than the one you have in Mother. If my wife says she has something handled, then I know she is going to handle it." "Perfect," Father answered. I knew what he might be thinking and the countless words running in his mind at this point, and actually he wasn't wrong for having that, but I also knew that we weren't losing it. I had that much faith in my wife. "We are here." My tire covered dry, crusty leaves when I drove in. The trees around were vibrant in color, signifying autumn.I stepped out first, with Father stepping out afterward as we made our way to the warehouse.

The Hollowing comes to me in the lane outside the cartographer's building on a morning when the light is doing its sharpest thing — the particular quality of autumn sun in a city that knows how to hold it, angled and amber and absolutely without sentiment about the cold it carries. I am alone.