Saturday Morning, a Quarter Way through September

Autumnal white skies are very different from the desolate depression of springtime white skies. White skies in September (or October) deepen the air, the flat-light makes something unreal about the streets; breathe in ghost-stories, churchyard days and brooding alley...
I think it's the stillness, the feeling that things are waiting for something else.
The last autumn in Ickenham, 1992.
I was signing on, working part-time at W.H.Smiths. Days were spent doing art, or writing, or recording music, walking the dogs during the evening. Because I had all that time to myself, I had that leisure to watch that autumn change from summer and deepen slowly to winter.
A dog barks somewhere, the washing machine turns in the kitchen, someone moves down in the Mews.
Can't hear anything else.
No, wait! A heavy parcel has just thumped through the letter box. Got to go. It must be the Best American Comics volume 9 I ordered last week.
Got to go!