Dazzling fiery hair, a warm knit sweater, and a cup of apple cider in her hand: Autumn had arrived. Leaves fell as she ran through the forest, trees transformed from green to a magnificent shade of yellow as her hands brushed past them.

A crowded pile of pumpkins sat on the front steps of her home; her fireplace crackled and popped as smoke billowed from her chimney. The small door to her cottage opened as she beckoned me inside with a merry grin.

Leaves fell through the overcast sky as we exchanged stories together. There was something so comforting about her—she wasn’t talkative but radiated a certain sense of warmth, like that of an excellent homemade dinner. A content type of happiness seemed to bubble up in my chest; the type you only feel when celebrating your “last hurrah.”

I glanced at my watch—it was getting late. Autumn’s hair appeared duller in the fading daylight, and she seemed wilted, like a flower in cold weather. As I left her home, a cool breeze rushed over me; I was surrounded by hundreds of barren trees, their gangly appearance accentuated by the long shadows cast the cottage windows. Dead leaves scuttled across the ground menacingly and caught in the straw-like grass. I turned around to catch one last glance at her; she smiled weakly back at me through the window, and the light went dark.