It hung on the tree like a sad little tear as the rain drizzled down all around it. The sky was steel-grey and the colors were dull, but that splot of blood-orange caught my eye. Then a wind came abruptly to knock at the branches and I watched as they poked at it sharply. With a quick little shudder it snapped and it fell, a blur of blood-orange through the rain. I ran forward desperately, and with one slipp’ry hand, caught the last rosy apple of fall.