%date 130920 00:00
It was the first snowfall of the year.
The leaves always abandoned their homes quickly. It hardly took them a year to let go of all they knew. They'd been on the ground for a while now, but they hadn't gave way to anything. Normally the falling of leaves signifies the end of an era, or month. They hadn't yet. Days went on as they always did, some of them held rain, while others sunshine, it wasn't certain nor important. Being awake was simply another state to exist in, for there nothing to be done, and no way to do it. Seasons grew bored with prolonged continuance. Their days were truly numbered, and they enjoyed vague aproximations of end dates and time off. Out of the glass wall that stood between me and the rest of everything was wind blowing on a cloudy day. Just like the others, until a cold speck of the sky began to fall.