Burnt Sienna Leaves

“So, your favourite season has always been autumn?” Leaves rustle on a crisp autumn Monday morning...
“Yes, its colour calms me...” The sound of wind ghosting through the foliage trees, singing a euphonious melody that haunts the listener. Milky white butterflies flitted past the other oaken bench, where overgrown weeds twine.
“Well, I’ve always been more of a winter person.” The wind calls out to him, ever so gently;
“Hm,” As the leaves fall; dried and ashen from the trees it once clung to...
“The snow; white and innocent. Before it melts away...to nothing.”
“Hm, very poetical.” Leaves red and brown like the colour of burnt sienna; waltz with the wind, pulling me in.
“Thank you,” The light of the sun is shielded by the canopy of trees giving a warm glow.
“But, autumn has a significant meaning,” The gentleness of his voice was like dewdrops during the first dawn of autumn.
“Huh?” My hand was grasp with such tenderness but it was cold.
“The seasons changes as the world would, the people along with it. Autumn is...” says he those words with such avidity.
“...A destined dichotomy of separation between summer and winter.” The grip on my hand became tighter.
“Whether be it the seasonal touches of spring, harsh dread of winter, blossoming rays of summer or reddish breath of autumn...there is no eternity left to last.”
“Beautiful,” The wind howls fiercely and I cowered to his side.
“Sorry about that,” He is a forgiving person; that I know. He let my hand go and gazes at me with his impenetrable half mast midnight blue eyes. I breathe in the breeze of autumn, as cool as his touch and kind as his soul. The oaken bench we are sitting on, is worn out and untouched by wild weeds. There trees are vibrantly painted with colours or red, orange and brown. Will this be able to last forever or will it fade as autumn passes?
“You seem troubled,” Time is taking a stop, to focus on me and him. Is it all just about complacency or discernment? I will not know. I want but us to stay in that nonpareil dimension where just both of us exists in a never ending autumn season. Just him and me watching and talking all about autumn, days passing by, eventually falling slowly into a slow fade...
“It’s nothing really,” Shuffling of feet is heard as I am growing nervous. Just him and me...With falling leaves the colour of burnt sienna...