Bare branches stretch skinny fingers to the sky, like hands outstretched to the sky reaching for the lush foliage they held just a week ago. One swift windstorm was sufficient to strip the trees of their royal robes of red, bronze, and yellow, and now they must stand in their poor man’s bark. The landscape is scarcely recognizable from the cheery golden sight a week ago. The forceful autumn gales have painted a winter scene along the city streets.
On the other side of town, a house encases a vacancy which a week ago ran over with a thick stew of life. In one corner elbows jostle till a fight ensues, and cacophonous voices spill into the hall. Another corner guards a muffled conversation, hushed till mirth wins out and unfettered laughter bubbles over. The sound of many stories woven one upon another. Now it is merely a shell, separated almost even from the memory of the people who called it home. The rooms stand bare, imagination struggles to replace everything the way it had been before.
A new chapter begins, a new season. For them, and me. They seek new adventures half a continent away – California will be their new home.