Summer’s dying breath propels the withered leaf
from August’s shimmering Aspen.
It pauses in quivering indecision on the
Tundra’s naked window.
Clinging, compressed, it spreads its ragged edges,
clutching feebly the slippery glass . . . hesitating.
Velocity finally exhales it . . . over the cab roof.
Blowing down the street, joining its partners –
driven on their merry way.