The air was cold.
My body sore.
But time stops for no one... not even punks snuggled in their beds.
Our mornings are not rushed, but must maintain a certain momentum if everyone is going to arrive on time. I am the metronome to the morning.
Time to get up.
Wake up beauty-pies.
And it continues. I put the clothes on the heaters. I make breakfast. Refill water bottles. Pack snacks. Check lunch tickets and diaries. Tick-tock-tick-tock... Brush teeth (we try), socks, shoes, coats, backpacks, door...
We can get it all in within about 45 minutes. Nicer when it's 60. Not so much when it's 30.
And this morning it was cold.
The changing season had wrapped itself around us in the night.
I could definitely feel it. And smell it's freshness.
That new season smell.
And it wasn't until I sat down two and a half hours later in my Italian class that I saw it. Right there in front of me, out the window.
Trees had turned red, yellow, with speckles of orange and burgundy.
Mountain tops white. Blue skies and white feathered clouds.
I've been walking on wet slippery leaves for a few days now... I wonder how I could have missed this.