I can feel the crisp on my cheeks, the tip of my nose. It balances the warmth at the back of my neck, curling under my hairline. I wonder briefly about the temperature it needs to be to keep sweat in a static state of never quite forming. The wool toque is scratchy on the tops of my ears and I shift my head a tiny bit to alleviate the tickle, as my hands are occupied.
My hands are bare, the tips of my fingers cooling quickly in the lack of late afternoon sun, and wrapped around the smooth wooden handles of the wheelbarrow. The load is heavy, so I keep the angle as close to level as I can, smiling at the gentle strain in the length of my arms. Autumn is a season to embrace change, the lazy days of summer giving way to snow fall. Things can’t be put off any longer, action is required. Making sure everything is tucked away which needs to be, garden beds are covered, fire wood is split and stacked, the harvest is properly stored. I’m nearly there. I have only a few more things to take care of.
Like dumping you.