A sprout, at the park, always growing and always changing. That is his life. In the night time, he is lonely, like a shadow in the night. In the morning, a confident fellow, a wise one. His big arms reach for the sky, and protect everything under it. A brave one he is. He never rests, his beautiful leaves shed, and fall, like soft gentle rain, on the cold moist grass. Gradients of yellow and red, like a painting, a masterpiece, on a single leaf. He is an artist, painting the sky, making big ghostly shadows, that protect us from the burning heat of the sun. And when the time comes, he loses it all. All of his features fall to the ground, but not gracefully this time. He is bare, just sticks, brown, even black sometimes.

     Snow, like powdered sugar, and we are the cupcakes. He is showered in the snow, like a little topping on top of all the bare branches. Branches want something, they reach out, trying to grab something we will never know. I have sat here long enough. One day I will say goodbye. If I leave first, I will plant a tree next to him, for I know he will be protected. If he leaves, oh I don’t want him to leave, he is my best friend, Nobody could do such a thing. The day will come, but I won’t want it in the near future. He will stay there until he leaves and wont move until he does.