Eye: The Arms of Central Park

"Canopy"

Central Park in the fall, the first she'd ever seen. The crisp sunlight threw dappled shapes onto the worn pavement through the trees, which sighed contentedly in the cool breeze. The first caress of winter had tinted the very edges of the leaves in brown lace, preparing them for their new, cold weather wardrobe.

She was not looking up, though, nor out at the park. She stared only at her traveling companion's denim-draped back, at the impatient feet briskly trotting away from her. The silence between them had grown as long as the tunnel of fresh green ahead; the chill encroaching as surely and steadily on their words as it was on the greenery.

It was only a matter of time before winter fell.