Autumn Fall Spring May 2026

“You and me both, old friend,” Emory had said that morning, looking at his own gnarled hands.

Lena had loved autumn best. She called it the “brave season”—the time when things let go, not because they were weak, but because they trusted what came next. She had pressed maple leaves into every book she owned. On their last good day together, she had made Emory promise her one thing. autumn fall spring

But they didn’t see what he saw.

The tree was dying.

The old man’s name was Emory, and he had forgotten more autumns than most people ever lived. “You and me both, old friend,” Emory had

But here is what they didn’t understand, and what Emory would have told them if he could: “You and me both