Unfulfilled in his green New England world, the maple leaf woke joyously to see himself yellow as the sun. As others shifted to a bright, pumpkin orange, more cars than usual rolled over the hill.
“They’re here for us,” one boasted. “It’s not about you at all.”
The maple leaf focused; weeks later his orange dreams rang true.
“More cars,” the other announced, now red but gaunt. “Gawking, taking photos, children in the foreground. Embarra—,” but an autumn gust swept him aloft.
Watching the fluttering decent, the maple leaf noticed—with dread—his own crimson transformation taking shape.
“They’re here for us,” one boasted. “It’s not about you at all.”
The maple leaf focused; weeks later his orange dreams rang true.
“More cars,” the other announced, now red but gaunt. “Gawking, taking photos, children in the foreground. Embarra—,” but an autumn gust swept him aloft.
Watching the fluttering decent, the maple leaf noticed—with dread—his own crimson transformation taking shape.
