It rained.
Water washed over the branches, the buildings, the buses.
The pavement is damp and dark.
Just weeks ago, vivid maple leaves swirled in the air, floating on thin wisps of wind.
Only, now they are flattened, as if stapled to the ground.
Lifeless, still, trampled on.
Sticking out against the beige of the concrete, they take on a ashen hue, as if scorched by a million dancing flames.
No longer skittering across the road and resting in a crunchy pile, not for another year.
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