there is a wooden bench

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there is a wooden bench

the wood is worn, near splintering

and the once walnut finish has faded to gray


the sun

which is surrounded by clouds

but not blocked

casts a soft warmth on the bench

inviting me over


I sit

looking up at the beautiful maple standing behind the bench

its leave have begun to change

only a handful of green is noticeable amongst the reds and yellows


it is not until this moment

that I notice the many leaf less trees that surround me

they are bare


they lack the warmth of the maple


a quick gust swirls past

there is a ruckus in the branches above me

crisp leaves rattle together


lone red leaf


.   w

.  i

.    r

. l


(in the still air)

(cascading towards)


seconds pass by

until it takes its last twirl

and lands next to me on the bench

its vibrant red color

standing out against the gray of the bench

signaling what is to come


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