This morning I went to school under a sky the color of dust when a strong wind was blowing. It seemed to rain as the forecast had said. The road and the fields were almost deserted with withered grass shuddering in sight and the crops in harvest. As we withdrew from school, it cleared up after the descent of a few raindrops. No sooner had I passed the bridge on the polluted stream than I found a dead poplar tree had been broken down by the wind at the stump and fallen upon the tree beside it. I picked up two branches snapped off the trunk as thick as a thigh. I loaded them on my bike and walked home pushing it along. On arrival at B village I spotted the glittering golden leaves on some young poplar trees of a small wood in the setting sun.