It has been a non-autumn. Early snows shocked the trees to brown, and now the leaves sit, wilted vestiges of life, clinging to the branches of their past. I stand outside and though the wind runs tendrils of twilight through my fingers, the leaves rubbing against each other is a dry crackling of paper and sends shivers down my spine. I find it disconcerting, to say the least, and to stare out at the so many trees encased in husky hollows of leaves is...well, just depressing. The in-between is killing me. Feels stilted and it rattles me down to my core.