The jack-o-lantern from Halloween is still sitting on our front stoop, its grin going slowly from goofy to gruesome as it gets moldy. The little black and white kitten that our downstairs neighbors adopted has run away. And everywhere great quantities of soggy leaves: imprinting their outline on the windshield of my car, stopping up the street drains, hiding the sidewalk under their slick colorful husks.
My view is expanding. I can see more sky.
Some things that you think are going to rip your heart out, don't. You realize you were moving towards them all along, and it's OK. You won't be diminished without your foiliage. You will just be more bare, your bones and branches visible. You will be the pencil line on the paper that lies beneath the paint.