Today feels like the last day of fall. The leaves are all but gone from the trees, and there’s an odd chill in the air that I’ve never really noticed before. My breath comes out in little puffs as I sit on the edge of a bench near where the old oak stands. It used to be full of orange and yellow, but now it just looks like a tree.

I take my time watching a few leaves flutter down. They twirl gracefully in the breeze before settling softly into piles at my feet. The sky is a dull gray today, with clouds that promise rain later. I wish there was some way to catch these falling leaves—I could stuff them under my bed and pretend it’s still fall.

My hands fiddle with the keys on my phone. I’ve been thinking about checking social media again, but I don’t really feel like scrolling through pictures of autumn when everything around me screams that it’s no longer here. Instead, I decide to pull out a sketchbook someone left behind and start drawing the leaves on the ground.

The first few lines are shaky, but soon my pen moves more confidently across the page. The leaves I draw are big and wide, with veins spread out in perfect detail. They look almost like small works of art when done properly. I spend over an hour just sketching until my hand starts to cramp up.

When I’m done, I lay down next to a few piles of leaves. They’re soft under me, crinkling with every shift of the wind. As I lie there, watching more leaves fall from above, I feel a small pang of sadness. This isn’t just the end of fall; it’s also the end of another year. I’m 19 now, and who knows what will come next?

I pull out my phone again to check the time. It’s almost dinner. Normally, I’d be in a rush to get home, but today, I don’t feel like moving. Maybe if I stay here long enough, one of these leaves will find its way inside me. Then maybe next year, when fall comes back around, it’ll be a little more familiar.

But for now, the world is quiet and cold outside my bubble. The leaves continue to dance above, and I close my eyes, feeling like they’re whispering secrets into my ear. When I open them again, a single leaf has landed on my cheek, cool and soft.