I have nothing left to hold

Leaves rustle in the chilly breeze. A vibrant red one is torn from its branch, tumbling gently through the air.
The wind strokes my cheek and finds its way through my clothes. I wrap my scarf tighter, wishing for warmth and sun and times past.
Picking up the fallen leaf, I twirl it absentmindedly between my fingers. I stand listening, my gaze locked on the horizon. The afternoon sun bathes everything in bleak, washed-out colours. Like an old faded photograph.

Fall is here. Wish you were too.