We walked two paths in late September. The green leaves of the trees, in their last days, prepared for the end. We wished their glorious death would come sooner and last longer.

We walked the first path in the morning. The red-brown riffles to our left whispered stories of a thousand autumns come and gone. We were thankful for the twenty-seven you’ve lived.

We walked the second path at noon. The abandoned railroad ties shook with the memory of train blasts and younger days. We laughed about mystery-food birthday parties.