As the mists of October draw like a grey, tattered shawl around the shoulders of the cold northern moors, autumn lights the trees of Yorkshire in a blaze of golden yellow, deep russet brown and thick viscous red.
Swirls of bronzed leaves warm the ground like banks of embers, glowing on the scattered pavements; quenched when the clouds break and it rains.
Right now the skylight is latticed with raindrops, a staccato flow above my desk as I call multiple people for their RSVPs, trying to get over 300 people to come to the Client Awards and Fundraising Dinner in London, the dial tone drumming in time with the muted thunder.
Someone answers.
Hello?
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