Can't you hear the wind whispering your name in the breeze?
The elongated arm of the tree reaches out its fingers, them curling back and forth, as if to say, "Come here."
The dark branches look like skeletal hands against the pink-white sky.
The leaves are like autumn confetti, sprinkled around the roots.
The trees look anorexic; hungry without the leaves.
Soon, they will be filled with the cold relief that is winter.

**~~a.s.f.