The crisp breeze carried the leaves far away from their home. Reds, oranges, and browns swirled around the small, quiet town. Everyone else was asleep except for the boy in the maroon and gold scarf.

His dirty, white sneakers crushed the gravel under his feet as he rushed down the pathway that led into the town park, notebook clutched in his hands. He had to get to his bench before the sun began to rise.

Taking a seat on the rickety, chipping bench, he opened his notebook to the next clean page, took out his colored pencils from his pocket, adjusted his scarf, and waited for the world to start anew.

Each fall day he would make his way out to the park just in time to watch the sun come up and he would draw it. Not very well, but his mother always used to love them when he was able to show them to her. She had passed away two years ago and every year since he's come out to draw one more sunrise for her.

Fall was her favorite time of year, so it was only natural that that was the sun he drew. She loved the leaves in their ever-changing color scheme, the hot apple cider on particularly brisk mornings, and the joy and love that the holidays brought.

Birds chirping pulled his mind back to reality as a sliver of the sun started to peak above the bare tree branches. They had buried his mother between two willow trees not too far from the park, they were very much similar to the two in front of him now.

He began with the trees, sketching out their thin appendages and wide trunks. Then he drew the birds that had sailed past before the sun was in the perfect position for him. He needed to be as quick as possible, his mother loved when he made the sun halfway above the trees.

By the time he completed his picture, the sun was past the branches and people were beginning to leave for work. Studying his masterpiece, he nodded in affirmation and closed his notebook. He couldn't wait to show his mother.