the last leaf. . .

Single leaves, hanging on to

bending branches,

swaying in the wind.

Fragile twigs, snapping,

like a leather whip.

Lonely clusters of leaves,

waving violently. . .

pushed to the limit before

becoming airborn in a swirl.

A last red leaf, vivid in hue,

bounces bravely from

it's stem, waiting for it's turn

to venture skyward in a

blustery autumn dance. . .

then to slumber on a gold and

orange mound. . .

finally at rest.

It leaves behind a naked tree.