Walking Each Other Home

The other morning, in the early hours, I sat mesmerized by the way the early morning sun was doing its thing on the branches of the trees outside my window.

It had a golden hue to it. The few leaves that were still left on the sycamore tree basked in the sunlight and slowly swayed as if they were asking the light to see them even more. It was as if they were saying, Choose me, shine on me. And it was as if, when the sun chose them, they swayed more and lit up with a more golden hue.