My drive to school consists of winding roads and wandering eyes in this town of autumn.  There is a layer of undeniable honesty to this season, as if the world at this time has nothing to hide. Something about the fiery death of the maples down Laurel brings life.
The chill of the crisp blue sky is palpable from behind dusty glass windows, and zephyrs that threaten needles across your cheek rustle the bones of bushes with no urgency at all.