Rustling Leaves

I sit quietly in the middle of a classroom.  The big test day has arrived and I'm nervous and excited all at once.  Once I finish answering questions and filling in the bubble sheet with time to spare, I gently place my pencil on the desk before me and look up from my paper.  In front of me is a large window, which covers the entire width of the room. Autumn is upon the world outside.  A long field is stretched out, with a row of cottonwoods looming on either side.  Their leaves are changing colors, ranging from summer green, to faded yellow, to shimmering gold, to sunset orange, to a deep crimson.  My mind wanders away and I imagine a deep breeze that comes along and the leaves rustle in the cool morning air.  A drying brook rushes past.  I picture myself skipping down the corridor, the grove on my left and my right.  The fallen leaves crinkle beneath my feet.  I hear a bird chirp sweetly, but then awake to realize it's only the alarm, dismissing our class.  But that picture of fall never fades from my memory.