Just outside my balcony an old crab apple puts on leaves of gold to celebrate Autumn
Just after the death of the flowers,
And before they are buried in snow,
There comes a festival season,
When nature is all aglow—
Aglow with a mystical spendour
That rivals the brightness of spring,
Aglow with a beauty more tender
Than aught which fair summer could bring....
~Emeline B. Smith, "Indian Summer"
The crab apple also fills the living room windows with its golden aura
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