The persimmon tree in full bloom outside my window reflects off my white walls, making my room a calming shade of pale orange. It’s like looking through a lens into my own bedroom.
I’ll wake up one morning, any morning now, expecting to be met with the bright and colourful persimmon tree that brings me so much serenity, but it will be gone. The tree will now be naked, nothing but a vertical pile of sticks, and the reminiscence of my serenity will be on the mulch covered ground below it, slowly but surely rotting away. Autumn.
