When the first one fell, I cried. It tugged at my heart.
Why does something so vibrant have to perish, I thought. I felt frightened.
Then, I got used to it. Daily grind numbs your soul and makes you oblivious to many things. Dozens could be falling, and I didn’t even notice anymore. Remnants lay on the ground, and I walked by, feeling nothing. Survival, you might call it.
When I got home and put the dusty duffel bag down, I looked up at the tree in the backyard. All its leaves had fallen, and it was bare, nearly lifeless. It reminded me of Hué, where I had just left.