Lost Hour Found

[rejectomorph]

The wind persists. It is a mild wind, with occasional furious gusts. The pines whisper, and I sit in my room watching the curtains billow. It is as though night were swelling and shrinking, inhaling and exhaling. Sunday morning, and there will be little traffic. I will go to sleep to only the sounds of the wind. I have set the clocks back. The regained hour I have spent in this serenity. When I wake to the foreshortened afternoon, whatever the weather, it will feel as though autumn has really begun.