Autumn nights. Cold, clear stars above, mixing with flame coloured leaves. Crisp winds. A hint of frost. The sky is as black as void, as velvet. This is only emphasized by the tiny pinpricks that try to shine like diamonds. The fixed patterns of the stars are forever, eternal, but the patterns of the leaves shatter and change with every blast of wind. The different patterns fit each other, compliment each other. But they don’t need each other. The leaves can exist without the stars, and the stars can certainly exist without the without the leaves. They are part of the same scene, the same autumn night, but they are not the same thing. And however pretty they look together now, winter and its snows will come and the leaves will finish dying and they will blow away. And the stars will stay behind.

Because that’s all that they can do.