She sits on a bench. There are autumn leaves all over the ground. A chilly breeze caresses her hair and blends with her sigh. Her eyes are melting with sorrow. Glimpses of tears at the edge of her eyes become obvious once in a while, tears that never fall down her chick but are welled in her heart.
She looks at the sky. It is blue, autumnal blue.
She gets up the bench and walks to the tall tree in front of her. Puts her two hands on the trunk of the tree. A narrow tall tree, live under her fingers. She follows the tall trunk with her eyes to the sky and roots her feet in the earth. Her tears in her heart becomes the moist inside the branches. The tree is alive. She is alive. That is all that matters. She is.