Harold was the kind of man who stayed up late every night and woke up early every morning. He sat by his window at least twice a day wishing he'd made smarter decisions. He worked at a factory and his wife's only words to him were, "Take out the trash." The birds outside always seemed to know what he was thinking, and they'd chirp at him mockingly. Harold didn't pay much attention to them, however. He was always too preoccupied looking at the beautiful tree outside in their front yard. It was a small tree, but it held many different colored leaves. After all, it was autumn.
He would stand up after thirty minutes or so and make his way outside to smile at the great outdoors, and then his wife would follow and wave her spatula at him. He'd frown, and that was the extent of his power.
But even guys like Harold have a little fun here and there, and he took up some sort of strange gardening that Gene, Tammy and the rest of us had never heard of—he'd plant green beans, and the next day, there would be six or seven gorgeous sunflowers blooming their way toward the sun in his back yard.
Of course, we felt a little bad for spying on his plants, so Gene confronted him, and the next thing we knew, Harold wasn't around anymore. Gene must have hit a soft spot, though, because the next week, those sunflowers were crying, and so was the grass where his autumn tree had grown. It wasn't there anymore—he must have taken it with him, and the last we heard of it, he'd moved to Ohio.