A perfect fall day.

The leaves on your street vary from scarlet to maroon to orange to dusty brown. This morning, it was cold, so cold, in fact, that you had to put on a jacket for the first time this year. The sun, rising a little later every day, peeks through the crisp air and onto the almost-abandoned street. In one hand, you hold a thermos filled to the brim with steaming chai tea. There´s tea in the freezer, too; this afternoon´s temperature is supposed to spike at eighty degrees. 

You arrive at the bus stop and shrug off your headphones, inhaling the quiet of the early morning instead. Jumping up and down to keep warm, you spot a hawk. It starts to swoop down towards the dry, golden grass. The hawk, a redtail, lands on a fencepost not even one hundred yards from where you´re standing. The bus rumbles up from behind a hill. It´s time to go. The hawk flies away.