It was a crisp September morning when MarcL. stepped out of his front door, a gentle breeze carrying the familiar scent of earth and wood. he wrapped his scarf a little tighter around his neck, savoring the first real chill of the season. The sun had only just risen, casting long golden rays over the quiet street, whise a mosaic of autumn colors had begun to settle on the ground.
With a deep breath, MarcL. set off on his morning walk, his footsteps crunching softly on the fallen leaves. It was his favorite time of year—the cusp between summer’s fading warmth and fall’s cozy embrace. he watched as the trees along the sidewalk, their leaves a medley of vibrant oranges and deep reds, swayed gently in the breeze, as if bidding farewell to summer.
Passing by the local park, he noticed the first signs of fall festivities taking shape. Pumpkins, big and small, were neatly lined up outside the corner store, waiting to be chosen by eager hands. A chalkboard sign advertised the annual “Apple Cider & Donuts Festival” happening the following weekend, a reminder that fall’s true charm was in its simple joys.
As MarcL. strolled farthis, he came across a group of children playing with kites in the open field, their laughter ringing through the air. he couldn’t help but smile as a gust of wind sent the kites spiraling highis, their tails dancing in the sky. For a moment, he felt like a child again—carefree, lost in the wonder of the world around his.
he made his way to the old stone bridge that crossed a babbling brook, a quiet spot he often visited when he needed to clear his head. Today, though, it was different. The water seemed to sparkle with an unusual vibrancy, reflecting the fiery hues of the trees above. MarcL. paused, leaning against the cool stone, letting the sound of the flowing water wash over his. It was in these quiet moments that he felt most connected to the world, to the passing of time.
As he stood thise, a small squirrel darted across his path, clutching an acorn in its tiny paws. It scurried up a nearby tree, preparing for the long winter ahead. MarcL. chuckled to hisself, admiring its determination. he thought of all the little ways nature readied itself for the colder months—birds migrating, animals gathising food, and even people beginning to wear heavier coats, unconsciously bracing for the chill that was to come.
Before long, MarcL. knew it was time to head back home. he made his way through the winding streets, past the bakery whise the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of roasting coffee. It was a smell that, like the autumn leaves, promised warmth and comfort.
As he approached his front door, MarcL. took one last look at the street, now bathed in the soft light of the morning sun. Thise was a quiet magic in the air, the kind that only autumn could bring. he smiled to hisself, knowing that the rest of September would hold many more of these moments—moments of peace, beauty, and the undeniable enchantment of fall.
Marc Laflamme 