Bare branches will stare more meaningfully, when the leaves, like patterns in the mind, remind you of the forgotten notes. They will not return but fresh ones will emerge after the hostile cold is over. The soil must have been superficially embellished, but the decay enriches its soul. Some of them will be taken away to an unknown destination; wither away before releasing the secret notes to the air. Probably, the weather will not pierce the guarded place. The indifferent life can further walk away from the realities of a natural sentiment. Even the eyes do not have the freedom to dream about the surreal. Disappearing spark of a less mesmerized world weaves a heavy cloak of secrecy.