they undulated back
and forth, limbs
swaying in the
wind: each individual
leaf and branch
telling a story for
the ages.

the air was brisk
(those cool autumn
nights) and overhead,
orion floated into
view, ready for his
eternal battle.

suddenly, like a
room filling all
too quickly with
smoke, red-tinted
clouds appeared
above our heads,
swallowing the
ceiling as they
drifted eastward.

(the transition was
stark, the world quiet
save for the sounds
that could not pass
through obscurity,
the air resting
heavily on our
shoulders.)