A Single Leaf


Red and orange and yellow leaves
Carpeted the lot where my car was parked.
I crunched over them and inhaled the autumn air;
It was smoky cool and earthy fresh.
I peered down at the leaves – those abundantly scattered,
Dried up, crinkled relics of life,
And played with the idea of grabbing one.
I haven’t cared about a leaf since I was ten.
I drifted into the car seat, started the engine,
And noticed a single leaf held firmly by the windshield wiper.
It was curled and wrinkled, yet regal and robust,
And orange like the late evening October sky.
As I drove off, the leaf shivered in the cool wind
And I, uncharacteristically, rolled my window down.

Copyright © 2018 – Adam Light
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