Winter tops each branch with frost and flakes. In springtime, sticky, shiny new buds of electric green burst forth from those same branches; a full cover of green evolves as summer's long days arrive.
Too soon, the days begin to shorten, and the air becomes crisp. By the end of September, a mottled mix of green and yellow decorate the streets. By October, the branches are dressed in their finest gold.
I stand there in the middle of the street, watching a soft and steady flutter of leaves trail down from the canopy above. In another week, this colour will all have vanished. In that in-between of November--after the leaves are gone, but before the snow has fallen--the trees will stand naked and colourless.
So I will stand for just another minute. And hold the colours as close as I can.
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