It was a warm September in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming where we fish. The sustained warmth tricked the leaves into thinking that it was still summer. That allowed some aspen to turn red rather than gold. The willows and grass gradually changed and the evergreens stayed true. That dream was shattered when storm blew in on October 9th and by October 13th the temperatures had dropped into the single digits. With the wind chill factor it was even colder high in the branches of the trees. The leaves didn't have a ghost of a chance to be pushed off from the trees in preparation for the spring. They froze in place and when they did fall they were like no leaves I'd ever seen. They left prints upon the sidewalk and upon my soul.