My next-door neighbor wraps her trees each November.
Tying up the remnants of autumn in lengths of rope and string.
Binding them to ward off winter.
She explained it to me once, the fall after I moved in, over cups of apple cider held in fingerless gloves.
She does it every year.
I’m not really sure it works.
But sometimes those last few leaves seem to hold on to her trees a little longer.
After the rest of the trees on the street have given up.
Before they finally succumb to the frost.
When the snow comes, she replaces the strings with bright red ribbons.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.