Fall

Green to red, yellow, orange to brown; to dead from alive.

We watch, baring witness to the inevitable waning of life, the beauty of the trees.

A turning of the seasons... to turn a new leaf–and yet:

clutching, clinging... hanging by the weakening thread to that which once did sprout us.

 F

A

L

L

i

n

.

.

.

g

Shrivel up to nothing, but your time had already come.

When was the end? 

The snap? The reddening? The fall? The impact?