The red leaves look like balls of fire on the tips of trees. Even in death they are radiant, shining as if they stole the sun. They have come to their end and have decided to exit in full glory. They will hold on until a strong wind comes and force them to take their final bow. The curtain will close in order to change the scene, but will the memories hold? Will the mind be able to rewind back to the time when the air was warm and sweet and this foliage provided comfort? Will the mind remember the red bird when these tips are covered with snow? Or will the fallen leaves be reminiscent of un-swept tears?