The oak tree had lost its imposing authority as its branches were stripped bare. Autumn had shed it of its leaves, a skeleton shivering as it lay exposed. It had fought hard, clinging onto the last, but it could not beat the encroaching inevitability of autumn’s wicked ways. Now the frailty of its being was made apparent to the world, the branches quivering as the wind that only autumn knows wrapped its tendrils around each and every one. They creaked and moaned as they screamed in an unheard agony carried away on the wind.