By Jasmein Minhas
The leaves danced alongside the wind. Cascading colors of burgundy red and russet orange fluttered through the air while the branches of the leaves quickly grew bare. The chilling air nipped at the skin and I recoiled, pulling my thick coat closer. Fall really was here, but summer was clinging with hope of staying. While the sun peaked wistfully through the burnt branches, it was still eclipsed. The branches would twist together to form a shield until the rays from the sun no longer could kiss my bare skin. By six, a thin layer of frost would form on the parked cars in the dimmed street. I exhaled, slowly watching the light gray clouds burst from my chapped lips. The air carried a strong, pungent smell of cinnamon and pumpkin. It was warm and soft, a rustic mellow scent that enveloped me. My lips pressed against my coffee cup and the warm liquid drizzled down my throat. Bitter yet sweet, just like the weather. A sly grin formed on my red cheeks and I chuckled to myself. Fall really was here.