She stopped her bike and stood looking at a small but especially beautiful maple tree that stood alone, taking in its flaming glory. Compelled, she dropped her bicycle at the roadside and climbed over the ditch to the maple. Scooping up some leaves from underneath it, she let them shower over her head and shoulders, holding some in her hands.
"Is this how it feels, tree?"
I think this fits quite nicely with my current obsession with Autumn and with the Best Passages contest. Have you submitted your entries yet?
Thanks for this Susan!