The young woman passes an ancient oak. A sudden chill in the air forces a break in her melody. She stumbles in her skipping, a shiver running across her golden skin. The woman glances around. She feels a gaze but sees no one, and heads away down the path, skipping perhaps a little faster now.
The man steps from behind the oak. Fragments of his mossy frock coat fall away in his wake. A solitary orange leaf lies in the middle of the path. The man stoops, and picks up the stem between his bony fingers. He lifts the leaf to his nose, and inhales the scent of decay.
The man gazes along the path, and smiles at the retreating Summer.