At Hayes' memorial, the fallen bright red and yellow leaves of autumn turned to brown, sodden clumps in the incessant chilly drizzle.
When Trip came home, the shade of green, leafy trees provided the only respite from a temperature of 95 and humidity that made it feel like 110.
At Hoshi's funeral, leaves were but buds, the air filled with the scent of flowering cherry trees, the ground covered with their pink and white petals.
Malcolm was buried in the bleak midwinter, the trees bare and dark against the gray sky, no protection from the icy wind off the sea.