The gray gritty cold concrete road was covered with stiff reddish orange autumn leafs. The thick barked trees towered over the cement showing frigid spots of shade. The warm sun rays seep through the once young leafs, reaching its way to the street, diving into more of the familiar autumn leafs. The bench, standing under the tall trees, takes in the cool breeze. Sliding through the cracks of the old wood seat. Flowing in and out of the splintered wood, hammering the rustic nails. screaming with force wrecking the bench, bending, warping the wood in the chilled air. The fresh green grass under the chair wraps its way up the wooden legs, curving with the shape, becoming apart of the bench. A young dewdrop leaps of the crisp shard of grass, splattering in the moist dirt. It spreads all directions, sliding to a stop as it reaches the sunkissed concrete. seeping in the the warm hard surface the drop disappears. just as the sun turns orange, it plays hide and seek with blue corn moon. The round cold light in the night sky rises up and takes place of the warm sun. The leafs take on a gray dull color and the bark of the trees crackle. The once crisp grass falls to a limp, squishy feel. The gray leaves crumble down, decomposing into the dirt, left on the concrete, falling through the cracks of the bench. A raw winter wind sweeps through the street bumping into the tall bark, picking up the dead leaves. chasing them down the street, the loud wind bangs through the banks of the trees. Then it stops, the sudden silence. The quiet, still night sky looks down watching over the park with its thousands of white eyes, sparkling.