It was the year of resolution. Finality neared closer, as the autumn leaves began to shed. The weather patterns of the previous seasons seemed to be an ominous forshadowing of things yet to come. Autumn had always been my favourite season, not only for the childhood nostalgia of past hallows eves and memories of adolescent innocence, but of it's greater symbolism. Fall being the twilight season, in which all of the trees burned their brightest, with the air beginning to cool the sun scortched earth. Fall being the time of sweet goodbyes, hearing birds calling as they prepare for their retreat to warmer places while singing their promise of return with the ever punctual spring. But this autumn was different somehow and made me question. What happens if the promise of tommaro... is broken?
