Sounds echoing all around me as I just sit here, leaning against the fallen tree. The sounds of gun shots, traffic and waves hitting the shore.

As I sit here I see many beautiful things produced by nature. Trees across the lake vary in colors, but the one that caught my eye, was a lone red one.

The red leaves on the trees really stood out, just like how I feel in a crowd of people. When you are African American and white, people stare. For example; when I would go to the store when I was little with my mom, who is white, people would ask if I was hers or if I was adopted. No one would have ever thought that my mom could have kids that were darker than she was.

When the leaves start to fall off the tree, color starts to be irrelevant. For example, when people pass away, what color your skin is doesn’t matter anymore. When you are a kid, color doesn’t matter, just like when the leaves start growing on the tree, they are all green. When we start getting older the color of your skin starts to define you as a person, like when the leaves change color in the fall.

Looking at the red tree in the middle of all the neutral colored trees, I thought of myself as a minority. While the leaves danced their way to the ground, they reminded me of the years going by as you grow older. When you get older, you will start to notice the color of your peers. You will notice the kids you played with as kids will start to change, they may think of you differently because of the color of your skin or because of your personality.

The trees are our lives.

The colors of the trees always vary, just like people. Everyone is different.

The color of your skin shouldn’t matter if you are a good or bad person, just like trees the colors are pretty to everyone. To me, everyone has a story to tell, they have all been through something different, just like trees.