Autumn Fall Spring _top_ ✦ «SIMPLE»

To anyone passing by, he was just another piece of the park’s furniture. A statue in a worn cardigan.

But here is what they didn’t understand, and what Emory would have told them if he could:

And the tree would answer.

The second week of October, the maple put on a show. Every leaf that still clung to its branches turned at once—a riot of crimson, amber, and flame. People stopped to take pictures. Children ran through the drifts of color, laughing. It was the kind of autumn display that made strangers fall in love and old couples hold hands.

“You and me both, old friend,” Emory had said that morning, looking at his own gnarled hands. autumn fall spring

When the park workers found him the next morning, they thought he had fallen asleep. He looked peaceful, they said. Smiling. And the maple tree—the one they had already marked for removal—had dropped every single leaf in a perfect circle around the bench.

“You can go now,” he told the maple. “Both of us. It’s all right.” To anyone passing by, he was just another

He came back to the bench every day anyway. He brought a thermos of tea and two cups—one for him, one for the tree’s roots. He read Lena’s favorite poems aloud, his voice thin as old paper. And he waited.