The wind whispers in the silence. The sound of the leaves brushed against the concrete echos down the road. They used to be so green and full of life. They change colors, they grow old and brittle. Like worn hands caressed with wrinkles, they simply fall from the surrounding limbs to the earth. They drag themselves, and their memories with them, down the street. The feel of the breeze and the echos of what once lived hit me in the face.