The cup of coffee is equal parts cold - in its deepest of depths, where a cooled crust of sugar and foam has congealed in the half-moon of shadows - and equal parts warm - just in the small exposed crescent that catches the voice of the sun above the lip of the mug.
The day itself is very much the same. Autumn is that stern Janus of temperature, that backwards face whose sun-drenched corners are memories of summer side by side with the front-facing visage of winter approaching quietly in the creeping afternoon twilight.
For now, Autumn is a balancing factor, holding green vine and fading leaf with equal gaze. She is not the trumpets of Spring galloping towards exuberance, nor is she the dry throat cackle of Summer's thirsty festivities, nor is she the hesitation of snow piling up against the Winter walls like guilt. Autumn becomes her own creature, a season of duplicity, the beautiful smile that does not quite meet the meter of the heart's solemn pace.
And with patience, in watching the plunge of the day towards the chill of solitary night, she stirs her coffee, and waits.
#fiction #writing #autumn #fall