“Come, little leaves," said the Wind one day, "Come to the meadows with
me and play. Put on your dresses of red and gold; For Summer is past,
and the days grow cold.”
I've never liked orange not even a hint of yellow though that doesn't mean I'm derange, you know. but it's still a riddle as to why, you can make me see it like it's aurora borealis in the sky.
“All at once, it seemed, the leaves of cottonwood trees around the cabin
turned golden and whispered to themselves, then curled into black
flutes and floated to the ground in crispy, lacy heaps.”