The mightiest month requires sharp eyes. To notice the normal, but not the similar. You never know when something can change. When you know you're not alone. There's a frame you're stepping into, perfected in advance. You don't have to rush it.
It's the way fallen acorns crunch under a swirl of your foot. How the happiest hour is spent wandering streets with shut up storefronts, everyone else back home for lunch. Leaves, perfectly dead and dried, provide a runway for what's come alive.