Theme # 57: Gape


Autumn had arrived in fiery reds, and the leaves were a vivid orange-crimson, pretty to look at. Good to sniff at, too, because they smelled of dust, a scent a certain cat liked.

Crookshanks stretched, lowered his head, and then curled up, by the lake. His eyes were half-closed, but it was no big secret that he was not asleep. In the distance, a smallish boy - a first year, it was clear - gaped at the green-eyed man with the scar. The said man was, in the meanwhile, in deep conversation with his owner.

Sleep would be welcome.