I grew up in Connecticut so fall is my favorite time of year. It's when the trees pull back their green cloaks and show their beautiful reds, oranges and yellows underneath. Maples are my favorite tree, their shades of red excite me every time I have the privilege of viewing them. It's no wonder when I was given a writing prompt in 1995 that I chose the maple tree.

The prompt was: Talk to a tree. What does it say to you?

"Hello, maple."

"Hello."

"Are you ready for another grand year?"

"My roots are tingling and I can feel the nutrients making their way up my trunk. Ooo-ow. There. My trunk strengthened and my buds popped. Yeah. I'm feeling a growth spurt coming on."

I meant to tell you before the rains come, that your leaves were the most glorious color of red this past fall. Think you could put on a show like that again this year?"

"Better. There'll be more leaves this fall, I guarantee. And from what I can tell, a crisp fall is ahead."

"The neighbors planted a maple you know. Between you and me, it's kinda scrawny. Charilie Brownish, if you know what I mean."

"If you recall, I wasn't much to look at either. Remember the winds of '92? Took my backside right off. I could have used some tree spikes at the beginning too, and maybe less rocks in the soil. It was tough stretching my roots around them."

"I did the best I could. This is the first home I've ever owned. And you're the first maple I planted. Besides, this house is just an experiment. For when I move to the next house, I'll have a driveway lined with maples."

"Will you come back to visit? I'm going to miss you pulling out of this driveway."

"Every fall."