Autumn arrived in a flutter, like that of butterfly wings. My fingers, still sleepy from a long night of nothing but typing and no sleep, struggled along the keyboard, typing at a speed that was a bit slow by my standards. The words inched along the page, line by line, letter by letter. I stared at the keyboard and watched the keys being punched, coming to life and spitting out words and sentences. The small table I sat at had another chair opposite me, but it was empty; my laptop case occupied it, instead of a lover or a friend. I've always thought autumn to be the season of lovers, hot coffee, warm jackets, and the many colors of leaves. The smell of cinnamon could be added into the list as well.

The rich smell of black, blank coffee wafted up from the mug beside me, the steam curling upwards, wrapping itself around the invisible air currents in the shop, mingling with other scents, until the smell of a pumpkin bread whirled into my vicinity, although there was no one there. I inhaled the scent and enjoyed the short, small gift of homemade food. Then, it disappeared as abruptly as it had appeared. The steam from my mug continued to dance upon the surface of the dark, rich sea.

I glanced out of the tall glass windows ahead of me, the front windshield of a massive vehicle of rolling warmth. The rough, marbled surfaces of the glass were clouded with the fog of the low lying clouds, curling their way between parked cars and blinking parking meters. The signal light at the corner flickered from red to green, blurred in the lens of the windows. A herd of white and red followed, on opposite side, the puttering of engines and almost transparent clouds of exhaust rising into the grey sky. Even though the relatively thick glass, the sound of the traffic over the wall could be heard, if one listened very carefully. Especially when the shop was as empty as it was now. I am usually the first to arrive and the last to leave. I practically call this shop home, and the owner doesn't even mind.

When I first moved to this town and discovered this coffee shop on the corner of a not-so-busy intersection, I stayed late once, until closing time, and the owner came over to me, worry etched in his eyes, and asked if I was a run away. I guess my shabby-ish clothes and my worn backpack and case seemed to convey that message but I hurriedly corrected him. That I was just a university student, as well as a writer. Then, after a few more trips there, he set down a cup of coffee by my side, even after my order was long gone, and sit himself across from me, in the empty seat, shifting over the backpack and case, and looked at me and asked to read one of my works. At first, I was embarrassed and a bit nervous, but since he had done so much for me so far, I handed him a tablet with an old document on it. I timidly sipped the fresh cup of black coffee and peered nervously over the rim at him. After an hour or so, he silently handed the tablet back to me and thanked me for allowing him to read my work. Then he soundlessly walked back to the counter. Later I heard from one of the baristas, who turned out to be his daughter, that he could not stop talking about my piece after that evening. I never heard it directly from him; his appreciation and kindness showed up in the form of a free cup of black coffee set down quietly next to me, a tinkle of porcelain and a curl of steam.

My fingers, which were now warmed up, stopped their busywork and one hand floated towards the cup of coffee. I gathered it up in both hands and cradled it there, letting the warmth burn my fingertips. The cup was still half-full, the dark depths of the sea slightly shallower than before. One could almost see the sandy white bottom, the coral reefs and the colorful tropical fish. A trip to the tropics in a cup. And here I was, reminiscing on a haphazard collection of ragtag, ancient childhood memories that seemed unworldly and not my own. Did I ever take a trip to the tropics with my family? Was I the only child or was I part of a group of siblings? These memories began to get fuzzy just around there. The trip to the warm, hot summer sun and the pure white sands, the rolling emerald and sapphire oceans of some resort, pure joy and pure freedom. My fingers clenched the mug with a minimal amount of extra force. The heat burned and I closed my eyes. And took a sip of coffee. The coffee sea washed away the pure white sands and the hot summer sun, glittering against the backdrop of the gem-filled ocean.

I drained the cup, the now lukewarm liquid sliding down my throat, coming to rest in my stomach, acid swirling in acid. With a slow methodical movements, I shut off my laptop, slid it into the case with my tablet, packed them away into my worn backpack, and grabbed the now-empty cup of coffee. A quick sweep of the area in case of dropped memos and notes, then I headed to the side counter. The owner was right behind there, putting away come freshly washed coffee mugs. I waved at him and he nodded at me, cracking a small smile upon his wrinkled features, his skin like the weathered and wind carved surface of an old tree by the sea, years upon years of experience in hardship in all manner of weather. A smile flitted to my lips at this fitting description and I turned, waved a nod at the barista on duty, and push my way into autumn.

Autumn was on the doorstep, it was in the air, on the car windshields, in the street gutters, in my shoes. A bright red and brown colored leaf somehow smuggled its way into my shoe, sitting between the sock and the fabric of the thin layer of Converse. Cobalt blue with a contrast of red and brown. An odd motley combination of colors and textures. The leaf was smooth to the touch, a glossy finish upon it, nature's makeup. The veins stood out like the arms of a delta, carrying water to all regions of the glossy lands, lands unexplored by man and left untouched. I reached down with a lanky arm and plucked the small being from my shoe, the feather of an exotic bird called Autumn.

A/N: I apologize if this is riddled with grammar mistakes. This is a WIP. I kind of really want to take this somewhere.