The chill of the Tuesday brunch hour tickles my baldness. Nearly all of my leaves have descended and have been hugged by feet, but there are still a few that hang on as if ignoring the change of the season. They will soon be repealed and I will alter as necessary.

My dear friend Harold awaits at my base, but I do not know what for. The day seems normal otherwise, but rather than resting his weight on me, he is lightly perched, barely brushing my dry and chipping flesh with his soft and inexperienced flesh, and ready for whatever his next motion may be.

I am equally concerned as I am excited for him.

He looks as if he did not rest particularly easy last night, but I do not blame him. Last night was the first frost, and when Harold is not attempting repose against me, I know he hides amongst juniper shrubs on the other side of the park. I can see him there, but I don't think he knows. The pigeons ate all of the seed and breadcrumbs too, so hunger and restlessness gnaw at his innards. It is time for him to necessarily alter as well.

My limbs rustle his senses, and he gazes upward to the tip of my top. He is not happy with me... His eyes squeeze my core as he uses all of his facial muscles to disapprovingly squint. He knows I am in the midst of dying, but, as he does every year, he forgets I will resurrect and regain the lushness and warmth he so depends on... I so depend on. He waltzes away out of a desire to clearly separate himself from me. His gaze lingers with the same intensity regardless of his distance. Whatever he has been waiting for has arrived. Harold is not one to steep in emotion, but today... today he is emotion. Adulterated, filthy, deep, moist, sickly, incumbent emotion.

I love him.

As if the wind is his newest lover, he transcends into an unrecognizable being full of hatred and lust. He breaks the crowd of pigeons and strikes one with vengeance. He devours its breast while never breaking his gaze. The blood pools in each crevasse of his eroding figure, and it is apparent that the warmth of the life he stole heals him in bits.

Further and further he waltzes.

I don't believe he will be coming back.