Under my feet, the thinly-threaded leaves curl, like crackling slowly warming in the oven. My bedroom is drowned in the dappled light of drawn out days, seeping through emptying amber-veined trees and finding refuge in golden patches on my walls. At 17:31 on this Tuesday evening, the sky pales; gold seeps through the clouds and the expanse of sky seen through my window turns a jaundiced yellow. In the mornings, the bus is filled with a deep optimistic glow which casts light on flecks of dust floating in the air. When I return home, and turn my lamp on, the artificial light is honeyed upon my work.
I am cold, aching, and tired, but my mind is saturated in yellow; I am deeply content.
The trees are turning red, and the sky a deep navy. The yellow is fading, but the mundane imprints remain.
- A note stored in my phone, written last Tuesday evening.