The long September sunlight reflects off the sandstone and red brick of the building across the street, filtering back through the green leaves of the maple outside my window.
The window is open; there is traffic on Bryant and a rhythm to the sound of tires on pavement, as car after car rolls by; Kitty is sleeping on the ledge by the sill, curled up on her side.
I see patches of blue sky through the limbs of the tree.
The air in the apartment is cool.
There scent of cinnamon and cloves lingers in the air, I made eggrolls.