I ran into three cats today; curiously, all of them seemed drawn to me.
And I, to them.

Equally odd:

I saw a dog
that I didn’t like at all

(the feeling was mutual).

Enough has been said about the vivid ochres and magentas, or the crisp air or how it feels to be a child again, jumping on pile after pile of brittle leaves or muthafawkin pumpkin spice lattes. People seem to forget that fall is a season of dying.