The cement is shaded from the sun, overgrown buckthorn trees make sure of that.
Autumn colors are scattered across the wood chips, the beginning of winter is here.
Each step taken creates a pattern of noise, crisp and crunched with each stride.
A light jacket suffices, in a few days ten more layers will be needed for a brisk walk.

The rich air takes hold of my throat, leaving a ghost to escape my lips with each breath.
I glance at the afternoon sun, soon this sky will be engulfed by a mass of clouds.

My numb fingers stumble to swiftly coat my chilled ears with hair.
One foot in front of the other, I approach a cluster of broken twigs and feathers.
Scanning the trail to the point of entrance, a birds nest lays between two pipes
The birds have fled, leaving a shell of dirt behind, but their old home will forever wait
Imagining the lives of small furry friends that have traveled through these buckthorn and leaves encaptures my mind.
In a week, the snow will have taken control, leaving a sheet of cold flakes to overthrow this once, summer wonderland.