Autumn enters town on a train from some other era carrying a hat box. She is that cousin two years older whom you have heard stories about---so many stories. And here she is, unchaperoned and overflowing just after harvest.

It’s easy to tell her on the street. She blows a wet kiss up your back. She wears a scarf early. She’s been known to wear a scarf only. And somehow that makes her easy to spot.

If you want her to tell you something---she won’t. If you want her to walk beside you---she will.

Autumn will not stop dancing. She has never worked a day in her life. And something about her dancing reminds you of the things you’ve kept secrets about. You wonder how you never told.

I’m gonna take a four month long nap when her train leaves town.

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