As I walk along the prom I can sense the first telltale signs of Autumn. The distinct smell of woodsmoke on dense cool air. But where is it coming from? Must be a house. As I look up at the renewed wildness in the twilight clouds, the pristine silverness of their edges. I consider our origins as two black suits amble along the shores edge, discussing the day’s deals. I cross a tree that has barely any leaves left, it is naked, and looks like a skinny dragon. We have begun the yearly descent into the dormancy of winter, and I love it.