Annie sat at her desk, struggling to write something meaningful into her journal.  She felt numb.  Life just hadn't treated her all that well.  Two weeks ago, she had left college to stay with her family for a while.  Her mother had received news from the doctor: the cancer had spread too far, and she had about a month to live.  A week later, Annie had joined a silent group of mourners, all dressed in black for her mother's funeral.  Now Annie was back at college, with no desire to write about anything.  What did it matter, anyway?  We live; we die; we get forgotten.  A lonely tear poured itself out of her eye and tore down the steep path of her face.  Not long afterward, a whole torrent of tears accompanied it as Annie sat at her desk, hair clutched by tense fingers and sobs wracking her body.  Her roommate, Jamie, quietly left the room, leaving Annie with her painful grief.

    When Jamie returned, late that night, she found Annie lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.  On her desk, the tearstained journal had page after page of scrawling handwriting.  Not wanting to intrude on Annie's sorrow, she silently changed into her pajamas and prepared to go to bed.

    "Jamie."  Annie's voice was thick from all the crying.

    "What's up?" answered Jamie.

    "I'm going to write about my Mom, about how she impacted me."

    "Sounds like a good idea." Jamie shuffled awkwardly. "Good night, Annie."

    "Good night."  Annie climbed down, changed into her pajamas, and grabbed her journal.  Once she had settled herself comfortably in bed, she flipped on her bed lamp and dedicated herself to rereading her journal.

    An icy gust of wind tossed my hair onto my ruddy face, eliciting an irritated grunt.  I passed my gloved hands across my face, sweeping away the offending hair.  My task finished, I looked at my surroundings, thoroughly disgruntled.  For some reason, my parents had decided that a "family outing" would do everyone good, and so they had dressed me up warmly, loaded me up in the car, and driven out to the mountains for a miserable picnic.  Normally, as an energetic 6-year-old, I wouldn't have minded a sparse trip, but today I had stepped out into the frigid weather and opted for a nice evening full of Nintendo 64 and hot chocolate.  But my parents had insisted, "Annie, this family needs a day together. We need some good quality time for bond-building."  I preferred quality time in a warmer environment.  Instead of that, here I stood in the middle of a frostbitten trail, shivering and glaring at the trees around me.

    "Annie, look at those fall colors!" cried my mother.  I offered the fall colors a withering stare and tromped on after my enthusiastic parents.  Not many minutes had passed before my anger slowed to pity.  I began to feel sorry for myself.  "Poor girl, chilled to the bone and forced to walk until she drops dead.  They'll find her body, years later, frozen like a popsicle and everyone will exclaim, 'Oh, that poor girl!'" I thought.  Within a few paces, I had managed to work myself to tears.  My fingers felt numb, my nose felt numb, my lips felt numb, my feet felt numb, everything felt numb.  I would die here.  Utterly overtaken by grief, I sat down and began to cry.

    Walking a few steps ahead, Mom could think of nothing more beautiful or more majestic than the trees during Fall.  It seemed to her that God took this time to set his trees alight with a perfect fire, one which did not burn, yet swept the hills with all its glory.  She turned her eyes away from the captivating sight to see if I had begun to feel any better about the trip.  Her heart dropped to her stomach when she saw her daughter's red face streaming with tears.  She fought down her panic as she went through every possible thing that could have happened to me.  Did I twist my ankle?  Had I been stung by something?  Did my head hurt?  Did my appendix burst?

    Mom dropped down beside me and gently wiped away a tear.  "What's wrong, Annie?"  

    I sniffed, sucked in a wobbly breath, and answered tearfully. "I'm cold.  I'm going to die, because I'm so cold."

    "But darling, you've got your jacket and your gloves and your scarf . . . you should feel very warm."
    
    "No. I'm cold. I'm going to die and no one is going to know about it."
    
    Mom smiled, "I would know about it."

    "Well, ok.  But you don't count.  I'm going to die and I won't have done anything to be famous.  I'll die young and no one will know." I broke into a new flood of tears. "I'm so cold, Mommy!"

    Mom wrapped her arms around me as tenderly as she could.  She raised her eyes to my hesitant father, who stood some feet away.  He was never very sure of how to handle my dramatics.  Mom smiled reassuringly, and then let her eyes wander over the landscape.  She shook me softly. "Annie," she said, "look up at me."  I wiped my runny nose on my nice, new gloves and looked up at her.  A little smile glimmered on her face as she looked into my expectant eyes.  She freed one of her hands and pointed out at the trees. "Do you see the leaves, Annie? How bright and colorful they are?"  I nodded, and she continued.  "They become bright and beautiful because of the cold."  I jerked my eyes away from the trees and looked at her in surprise.  Mom grinned.  "It's true.  You see, when cold comes, the trees stop sending a special chemical out to the leaves.  This makes the leaves turn all kinds of colors."

    "Is that how they turn yellow and orange?"

    "Yes, because all the green goes away."

    "And the red, too?"

    "Well, the red comes along because there's sugar in the leaf and the sun turns it red."

    "And . . . and the brown?"

    "The brown happens when there's other things in the leaf."

    "And the blue?"

    She tickled me, "There's no blue leaves, you silly girl!"  I giggled.  She kissed me, and looked me in the eyes. "You know, Annie, if you ever feel cold and numb again, remember that when trees get cold, they show their brightest colors.  It's when you feel cold that you should show the best of you."

    Annie closed the journal slowly, running a finger along the dogeared edges.  With a sigh, she dropped the notebook onto the floor and turned out her light. The blackness closed in around her threateningly, so she hugged her pillow tightly.  To the cold darkness of the night she whispered, "Ok, Mom. Here come the colors."