A person walks through crisp autumn air with their jacket hanging open, layers beneath it visible, a sweater, perhaps a scarf trailing loosely around their neck. The open front of the coat catches the breeze, flaring behind them like a sail on a calm day. Their boots crunch along with steady rhythm, each step sounding slightly heavier than the last as if the season itself has added weight to their movements. Hands swing freely at their sides, fingertips pink from the chill but unwilling to retreat into pockets. They inhale the cool air with visible satisfaction, the kind of breath that tastes like October and feels like home.