So I tipped my fingers and toes with a sparkling splash of it, translucent with a golden shimmer. And the eyes, smudged with a bit of cocoa on the lid and topped with tiger-eye along the brow. Bronzer all over, a honeyed blush. Every gauzey piece of cotton pulled from the wardrobe has spoken the same language-laughter. Great peels of it, or short giggling bursts.

Orange, she said. She's always right you know?

The last of the season with all it's colors, tastes, and textures is slipping away. I've been gathering up as much of it as possible, desperate to hold it close. But it's getting away. One piece at a time. I wake often these nights to the sound of the windchimes outside and lie still, remembering my dreaming.