crimson leaves

The crimson leaves danced at his feet as he arrived at the restaurant. The waiter waved him through the greeting station and to his regular table. Wednesday night, table for one, crunchy sourdough and the seafood paella. He spent all day looking forward to a glass of sparkling pinot grigio. Tapping his phone off, he took a moment to watch the other people in the restaurant. Daylight savings time had seen to it that sunset was cued up just as they all collectively sat down to dinner. Everyone sitting along the window peered out at the fiery late fall sky. A little girl, obviously bored with the adult conversation, traced hearts in the condensation on the window, dramatically allowing the last sigh of summer to escape in her breath.