Evening
The leaves, once rich with auburn and amber, are quite faded now; it did not take an arduous eternity nor even a month for colour to ripen and dissipate into time, tainted with the sun's searching glare, yes, now quite faded they waver uncertainly in the path of the lulling autumn winds, clustered high, high up above, clinging somewhat calmly as they observe our funny little world below as we rush around in noisy automobiles, in our dirty Converse, immersed in our mundane preoccupations like that essay deadline or whether we will miss the bus, or even if those chips were really worth the calories last night, for it is evening now and the leaves are quite content, the sky is fractured with tantalising slivers of purple, gold, orange, the first glow of a sunset that I had seen since summer, a sunset that I had shivered to, with goosepimples at its fleeting beauty, perhaps the very last time was July or August. Perhaps.