She could hardly help the small, wistful grin that flickered upon her lips when the tree came into sight. It was still early enough in the season that foliage still clung to the branches, fading slowly to pale gold, and the blooms that had cascaded to the earth had done so recently enough that grass was strewn with a carpet of amber. In the winter months, she knew, the tree sported forlorn-looking pods in place of its foliage, a stark contrast to the beauty it maintained in the warmer climes. But when it was like this, still picturesque despite nearing the end of its cycle, there was hardly anything she considered a lovelier sight. All things were transient, after all.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as he leaned so casually against the trunk of the Mimosa, her own hand reaching up to absently brush against a lower-hanging frond. She blinked accusingly upwards when the result was a fresh rain of leaves that scattered down into her hair. "We could do that," she said distractedly, and promptly set to plucking them out.
"I wasn't honestly sure how much you'd want to keep in touch while I was away."