The wind rustles dying leaves from tree branches.
Swirls of brown, yellow, orange, and red
cascade toward the earth,
frenzied, chasing each other. They rest
for a few seconds on the grass below
before being uplifted once more to another
spot several paces away. Each current carries
a dozen or so to their momentary beds.
In the distance, no thunder booms.
No lightning pierces the horizon.
No darkness shrouds the sun and sky.
No, on this last of summer days,
the only disturbance comes from each little leaf.
Curling into themselves, as if bracing for the
imminent cold. Fighting gust after gust to stay
fixed, just for a little longer,
but eventually giving in to the powerful wind,
the freedom of flight,
and the change of seasons it brings.
Rebecca Kelley is a fourth-year English major with a minor in Creative Writing. RK905058@wcupa.edu