It’ll be mid December in a month’s time. It will be snowing then, in most parts of the world, air planes hanging in the sky gazing at toddlers running around the streets making snowmen. Libraries snuggled under sheets of white, somewhere up North, candles casting halos over the ancient pages of books read by travellers. It’ll be that time of the year again, when I would leave the TV on late at night, waiting and watching, hidden in the blanket, in the dark for something good to come on air. When my sisters and I would tell each other scary stories at night just to stay up a little while longer. Book shopping trips and stopping to buy ice cream on the way back though dad will scold and tell us to protect our throats, me always craving for the weather to be cold enough to get my jacket out, and still visiting toy stores, walking in the park, looking back and witnessing a tree standing bare, its orange leaves , a while ago scattered all over the ground, now finally leaving traces, disappearing with the wind.