There is a time to reflect, and that isn't always a good thing.
Her mother and father had died in a bridge collapse when she was twelve. Everyone leaves.
Her Aunt Marie, who had raised her through all of those terrible teenage years, had died just after her marriage to Hank. Everyone leaves.
Now Hank has moved out taking their two girls, saying that he no longer trusted her around them. One way or another, everyone leaves.
They take your love, your hopes and dreams, and they wind up leaving you alone.
She set the warm mug on the table, the heat still in her hands.
Looking out of the dining room window she noticed the big, old silver maple in the yard. The chill November wind had already stripped away most of the bright red and orange leaves. "Soon", she thought, "you'll be all alone, too, old tree. Just bare, unadorned wood facing the lonesome winter".
Her hand moved to the gun in her lap. She lifted it, and felt the cold, dead weight of it. It had no love, no hope, nothing to lose, nothing to give away.
As she raised the barrel she thought: "Winter arrives; Autumn leaves".