Nearly all of the trees were bare now.
Just days ago, the world was alive with the vibrant hues of mid-Autumn. The sun set every branch aflame with its golden touch and the red, orange, yellow exploded everywhere.
But now the trees stood naked before the glaring eye of winter chill, their branches stripped by last night’s cold, cruel wind. Those few that remained leaf-clad wore winter drab, just a few brown straggling threads clinging stubbornly, crying, “we won’t go!”
“It’s probably an omen,” she observed.
They had argued this morning. Again. And there was the argument last night.
“I hate listening to you argue.” The words rang painfully.
The rest of the drive looked much the same…brown after brown after brown and then gray. She wanted just one more fiery orange, just one more red. None. She turned to go inside, away from the drab slicing wind.
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