It's Minestrone

[rejectomorph]

Stiff breezes are ripping leaves from the trees and sending them down the street, filling the night with a raspy sound. The moon has already gone, leaving the sky to the scattered stars. I listen and watch until I grow uncomfortably cold. Then I take my numbed ears indoors to tingle and flush. This is a soup night. The windows occasionally rattle as gusts of wind boom. I savor each spoonful after softly blowing some of its heat into the chilly room.