It was warm and dry with little relief from a breeze, light or otherwise, on my run through the woods this evening. It could have been any summer night except for the whiff, unmistakeable in the flat air, of dead leaves. The first sign of fall.
It was just detectable from the regular summer scents, like milk poured into strong tea swirling before it blends in and becomes indiscernible from the liquid around it.
Soon, dead leaves will be commonplace again and just part of the perfume of the natural world. But tonight it was a new and strange scent in the air.