First Light, Last Light (part 3)

People often say autumn is the time of year where everything dies, where nature around gives itself up to the vacancy and frost of winter. In the orchard with Emma and Roscoe, I could have never felt that way. That thought misses the whole charade. It doesn't allow for the subtle grand finale of the turning of smells and colors. And not to mention harvest season.
All around us was the burgundy of Empires hanging from the vigorous limbs of the trees lined like soldiers in a grid. Roscoe was beginning to sober up.
"Maybe this wasn't the best idea," Roscoe whispered.
"Oh, who cares?" Said Emma, grabbing a nearly perfect apple from a tree. She chomped down on it, getting its skin stuck in her gums, and she wiped from her face its ample mist.
"You've got one silly-ass grin going there, Frank," She said.
I yanked off an apple for myself and didn't say a word. I took off my shoes and sank my bare feet into the tall, wet grass. Everything was crisp. I squatted against a tree and slid to the ground. Emma sat next to me. The moon had escaped the clouds and left her pale forehead aglow. She pulled her hood over her short, brown hair. Roscoe stood off a little ways, staring down a row of trees that looked like black licorice.
Emma leaned over to me. "I love you, Frank" and she kissed my cheek, got up, and danced over to where Roscoe was standing.
The last thing I remember before the alcohol fuzzed over and I fell asleep was the faint sound of them singing "That's me in the c-corner, l-losing my religion..."

Eyes opened, head bent to the side, I saw the pale blue of the pre-dawn. Emma's head laid on Roscoe's shoulder. Roscoe puffed on the exhale. I got up and stretched. The aura of the sun was just penetrating the eastern horizon. Roscoe and Emma woke slowly as I was beginning to walk away. "Hey!" Emma shouted and came running after me, Roscoe following behind. The gravel road was in a thin haze of fog for all the way home.