The walk this morning had a different kind of quiet in it.

Not the good kind. The kind where the air is 17°C and sharp and you notice it in your chest before your nose has finished with the sidewalk. Dad walked steady. I stayed close, not pulling much. Something in the light was wrong — too early, too clear, too much like a decision had already been made somewhere above us.

The river path smelled like wet bark and something else underneath it. I stopped twice. Dad waited both times without asking why.

There is a feeling that arrives before the thing itself. I know fall the way I know the kibble scoop — before the sound, before the motion. Something in the dark that waits for the door to open.

We came home. The studio was warm. Dad sat down at the desk.

I got on the wool rug.

#pawscarwilde #thingsthemorningknows