It's always at this time of year that I remember that tree, and how it turned a bright red, a brillant red, in the Fall... It was next to one that turned very yellow, and I would sit at the window and stare at them, as though I could see the colors deepening. Ironic that such beauty represents such sadness, or so I thought, as the days got uglier everyday, and more leaves fell to the ground, surrendering to the evil cold. Spring is a distant memory, the promise of potential the new buds had, gets taken for granted as we played all summer in the shade of our giant guardian. In the fall, before it's chilling sleep this burst of color is the final hurrah, like a smile before death, signifying the joyous celebration of a life well spent, living to the fullest. Remember that tree? Everytime I see a brillant red in the Fall, I am that child at the window, marveling at the colors that came back to thrill me once again this time of year.