The world had changed.
The maple by the barn hadn’t just turned—it had exploded . Its leaves were not pale yellow or sentimental orange. They were the color of a forge: crimson, vermilion, the deep maroon of old blood. The sugar maples along the lane had gone the same way, fat with color, each leaf looking like it had been dipped in candle wax and set on fire. autumn falls round and robust
That’s when Elias understood.
He felt full. Rounded. Robust.
And then, with a soft, final thump , the last apple fell from the last tree. The world had changed