I traverse the path from the Kenarden Hall towards Beall Avenue daily, diagonally lumbering between Ebert Hall and the Arch. The trees cultivated here are always beautiful, but today they strike me differently. The first one I notice is northwest of where I stand, a relatively young Ginkgo biloba. Its little fans are green at their stems, a delicate chartreuse, and radiate out into brilliant yellow, making the branches look as if they are glowing. The next to catch my eye is a Japanese maple outside of Ebert, to my northeast. It is so red I would not be surprised if it had erupted from an enormous wound, bleeding leaves all over campus. To the south I can peek through the arch to see red and green static, the blurry leaves of trees farther away in the academic quad. I swing my gaze back towards the west to see the magnolia tree, which looks like it has only been dipped in decay, with its top branches extending into large brown ovals, and below those yellow, and down, closer to me, as brilliant green as if the seasons had not yet changed.