Jon and I were summer camp friends for several years, college roommates our freshman year, and close friends until the day he died in early March of 2005. In Indiana, March is the season when leaves are beginning to return to the trees, not fall to the ground as the chorus of the song depicts. But now, more than a decade later, I actually discovered a rhythm to my grief and it begins each year in the fall. In fact, if grief had a peak season for me, it would be September through March. I don’t know why, but every year in the fall, the memories of Jon hit me, they tend to flutter away during the festive holidays but then return with greater heaviness as I approach March. This past fall, as I was writing songs more, the annual dark season returned, and as I watched the leaves turning color and falling to the ground here in Tianjin, China, the words and melody of the chorus came to me. I remember those final months—particularly the fall before Jon died when I saw him more often—his ability to make us all laugh and enjoy life, despite his physical condition. There were a lot of sweet moments during that time and I didn’t know it then, but somehow those brightly colored moments were preparing me for our separation. In nature, we see the leaves turn the most beautiful, vivid colors right before they die. And I guess that’s the metaphor that makes sense to me when I think of my final days with Jon. He was beautiful. He was bright. He was made of vivid colors. He was a brightly colored leaf falling softly, delicately to the ground.