Fall has always been my favorite season. The chill in the air is just enough to keep me awake as I gazed in wonder at the changing leaves. I walked slowly through shades of red and orange, taking the time to enjoy a quiet Saturday.

After I picked up my pumpkin spice coffee, I found a window seat. I watched the world pass by through that window, smiling at the tiny glimpse of each person’s life flash by.

I finished my coffee slowly and got up, promising the kind owner to be back soon.

The walk home was blissfully peaceful. The small town felt connected through the whistle of sound through trees and rhythm of leaves crumbling beneath my feet.

I passed a man singing along to his gentle guitar and the golden afternoon. He sang songs of heartache and homesickness that made the pain they spoke of a beautiful thing. I handed him a some cash and asked for an old song my father had loved. He smiled and asked if I would sing it with him.

Our voices danced around each other like leaves in the wind.

I said goodbye, content to leave our voices in that moment. I left, humming along as he continued to sing with the leaves.

At home I started a fire in the hearth and curled up on my couch with a book and a cup of tea. I settled in for a quiet afternoon.

With the twilight came a thick fog, hanging heavily around the trees. It was peaceful as I walked back to the coffee shop.

A voice rang out of the fog, singing in harmony with the wind. I sang along as I drew near to the corner where the man sat with his guitar. He smiled at me as the song ended.

He asked if I would like to dance, his blue eyes hopeful. I smiled, my own warm brown eyes lighting up.

We danced together in the fog, our voices carrying a song on the wind.