The Thief

The Thief (complete story)

One drop on your cheek. Then another on your hand. "It couldn't already be over, could it?"

You'd clung to the remnants of summer like it would last forever. That warm afternoon breeze the other day, as you walked through the park, and the fresh dahlias blooming in your neighbour's garden, were a few final gifts of the summer, but you didn't think to savour them.

There are more drops now.

They hit the ground in multitudes, creating a gentle pitter-patter.

The dampness begins to seep through the fabric of your clothing and a shiver ripples through your body, but your first thought is not to seek shelter – it's that Autumn has crept up on you like a thief in the night, seizing the last of the summertime warmth before you could realise it.

"I should get out of this rain," you think to yourself, hurrying towards an old, bushy tree a few steps away.

This wouldn't hold for long; the showers would soon penetrate the thick layers of the tree's leaves. You look around in search of better shelter. There's not much other than greenery – trees, grass, bushes and a dusty pathway.

"A pretty place for an afternoon hike in nature," you think to yourself, "but perhaps I should have checked the weather first."

For the first time, you smell the rain. There are few scents that compare to the freshness of rain as it infuses with nature. Maybe bed linen fresh out the dryer. Or an unexpected whiff of an ocean breeze as the wind pushes it further and further inland to places it doesn't ordinarily belong. And freshly brewed coffee is somewhere up there too.

Your only option now is to turn back along the pathway, which, by now, has transformed into a sludgy brown mess.

Not all bad, you think to yourself; at least when your shoes stick to the mud with each step, it will distract you from the cotton shirt clinging to your body like a second skin.

You take one last look up the pathway, as if going just a little further may lead you to a hidden cave to shelter yourself from the rain. Or a warm, welcoming cabin where you could curl up next to the fireplace with a mug of hot cocoa.

You turn around and go back the way you came, focusing on each step until it becomes a monotonous rhythm. Squish, squish, squish.

The rain has subsided by the time you reach the carpark at the entrance to the nature reserve.

You're soaked, but you don't realise just how soaked until you're getting into your dry car, dripping water onto your seat, the steering wheel, the mats, and everywhere else you touch.

You spend every moment of the drive home fantasising about the steaming hot shower you're going to have, the warm knits you would pull from the very back of your wardrobe, the cup of tea you're going to sip as you watch the rainfall from the comfort of your bed with the book you haven't bother to open since the first week of summer.

That's the best part of autumn ... it's cosy.

As you reach closer to home, the grey clouds begin to part, giving way to slivers of blue sky and streaks of sunshine. Then the slivers become chunks and the chunks become masses.

You pull up to your house, get out the car and look up to the sky. There are only a few stubborn grey clouds left now, but it wouldn't be long before they, too, would retreat. It isway too warm now for a hot shower, or a pullover, or a steaming cup of tea – as if the storm had not happened at all.

"The thief strikes again," you think. "I was just starting to warm up to the idea of autumn."

You spot your neighbour and wave as you head towards the front door.

He's wearing a wide-brimmed hat and gardening gloves with little roses printed on them. In one hand is a pair of shears, and in the other is a bunch of peach-coloured dahlias.

The neighbour leans forward, inching slightly over the waist-high hedge as if to say something, and you move a little closer, hoping this exchange won't keep you too long.

"Looks like the rain got you good," he says. "Got my dahlias too."

"I didn't expect rain today," you reply, tugging at your clingy shirt. "Do you think this to-and-fro will keep up?"

"Doesn't seem like it will. The weatherman says it's sunny again tomorrow, if you trust what the weatherman has to say," your neighbour remarks with a smile.

"Yeah, maybe tomorrow will be different," you say, making your way inside to change your clothing and pour a cool glass of iced tea. Once you've changed and gulped down most of your tea, you slump into the soft couch. Mellow beams of late-afternoon sunlight stream in through the window, directly onto your face. You close your eyes, relishing every moment.