Autumn Fall | Spring Free

And the tree would answer.

But here is what they didn’t understand, and what Emory would have told them if he could: autumn fall spring

Lena had loved autumn best. She called it the “brave season”—the time when things let go, not because they were weak, but because they trusted what came next. She had pressed maple leaves into every book she owned. On their last good day together, she had made Emory promise her one thing. And the tree would answer

When the first cool wind of September tugged at his collar, Emory would lean forward, elbows on his knees, and whisper to the maple: “Ready?” not because they were weak