We planted the red maple seed with excited giggles and beating hearts resonating through our beings. The surrounding trees shared our joy with their trunks swaying from left to right with the dancing wind. "I want to see it during the Fall," you said as you watered the buried seed with care. I smiled at your sparkling brown eyes as your fiery hair glowed in the sunlight. The sun loved your hair, I thought every time I admired it. It would set aflame like a wildfire at night, and everybody would turn to look at you in memorization.

The red maple tree grew with us. We watched it every day with bated breath, you more than me, waiting and waiting until it could join in the Fall with its fellow companions. The white bench under the tree was a new addition to our spot. It was our tree. Our safe place. 

The rich aroma of the black coffee filled my senses as I sat down on the bench, a new storybook in my hand. The sweet woody smell of the paper and the sweet earthy scent of our tree was the only thing that kept us company as you were listening to your favourite music, seated comfortably at the foot of the tree.

Our tree grew taller, it nourished well and its flowers bloomed red, its leaves presented their oranges and yellows proudly. You were elated. You could finally see the Fall. Red leaves, yellow leaves, orange leaves. They decorated the ground in a pattern so beautifully distinctive that you wanted it embedded in your quilt.

We swept the leaves under the tree. You couldn't wait to jump into the mountain of leaves. I can still remember the joy and elated beam on your face as you dived into the sea of Red Maple leaves. You confirmed it then, "Yes, the Fall is my favourite season of all!"

You came out to the tree one day and touched its bark tenderly with trembling fingers. You clutched your new quilt that was draped on you, and a series of throat-retching coughs thundered from your small body. You said that you were okay, but we both knew that you weren't. You were diagnosed recently. You were supposed to be in bed. But I couldn't take away your joy of watching this tree, it was the only moment you looked alive. The only moment you smiled. You watched the tree and enjoyed it during the Fall every year. You looked less alive the more you smiled. But you waited under the tree with me, watching the red leaves showering us with a reality that was known to us. That was the last time you smiled at me.

For the first time since we planted our tree, I sit alone on the reddening bench. It felt cold. The tree had no more leaves. It mourned you to the end. You missed the Fall, for the first time in your life. But it was just as beautiful as it had been the previous years. Only, it lacked the warmth your smiles emitted. It lacked the red glow that rivalled that of your hair. The vision of your body sprawled under the tree while it rained you with its leaves comes to my mind as I watch the roots of the tree.

A lone maple leaf drops onto my hair. Ah, there you are. It was the last leaf of the Fall. I smile as the little leaf which reminded me of your fiery hair fluttered against me. Were you here with me? I see, you didn't miss the Fall after all.

With a teary smile, I kiss the bark of our Red Maple tree. I was leaving. But I made the Red Maple Tree we planted in our garden promise that when I got back, I would get to see its leaves fall on me like every year, while I sipped on my coffee and hummed the tune to your favourite song.

Maybe then, I'll be reminded of your most beautiful smile, when I see The Fall, until next time.

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This is a prose poem I created for the first time by scratch, which I will submit to the 'Falling Leaves' hosted by CoffeeCommunity. It was fun and emotional to create this piece. Good luck to everyone who submitted for this!

20.11.2023