Excerpt from "The Trees in Winter" by D.E. Sievers, Available Now on Amazon
He drove to work under a sky bruised with ugly purplish clouds that spit on his windshield; the risen sun might have spared itself the effort. It was a dark and dismal beginning to a day that would only get worse. The autumn was in its death throes, decisively trounced by the heavy boots of winter’s merciless invasion. The last leaves clung for dear life to their moorings, expending their final measure of fortitude in vain; the day’s ruthless gusts swept them away and the trees stood bare and grim by the time Blake drove back home in the late afternoon. But he took little notice of the forces of nature at work outside his window or the changes they wrought. He was all too preoccupied with those come to jar the foundations of his own inner reality, previously so unshakable through his life’s successive seasons. He was finding that what he had always taken for granted could in fact, all along, never have been more vulnerable, and his desperate attempt to cling to his moorings as hopeless as that of the last leaves of autumn.