Quietest quiet

He guides me down narrow, leafy streets. Turn right, turn left, turn right, go straight. We drive through neighbourhoods I've never seen before. Small brick houses and tall, old trees and piles of yellow and orange leaves.

When the weather cools, I want distance, space, the quietest quiet. All the romantic things winter makes us feel. I want hot drinks, wool socks, silently falling snow piling into drifts. But most of all, I want room to understand the year, and how it's passing quicker than I can process it.