The moonlit hillside glowed bright silver. She stood under the tree, its shade covered her face, like a veil. Her eyes stared into the distance. A gentle breeze caught an errant lock of hair and tugged at it before letting go. She stood unmoved.

The shadow had moved; she had not. The silvery light was dimmer tonight, and yet it lit the narrow path that descended along a gentle slope into the horizon. Her scarf rustled with the leaves above her. She stared at her frayed, woven shoes, looked up for a beat, squinted, and then her eyes rested on her feet.

She was barely visible in the dying light. Shadows engulfed the tree and the unmoving lady. Leaves broke away from branches. They were carried away into the distance before they floated down. A leaf landed on her shoulder and entangled in her hair. Shaking hands plucked it, held it close and her voice quavered as she muttered. Her long fingers parted, and the leaf found new wings. Her eyes followed the disappearing message, willing it further into the distance.

The night wore a black shroud. The moon lost its way; she hadn’t. Disloyal leaves no longer embellished the tree. Its branches bent. Together, they stood like siblings in the dark.