One by one, the leaves decide.
Who will go first? Who will hang on?
Who will be the last to go?
Already there were some who could not resist
the chance to fly, to ride the wind,
to be free of any restraint, to sail birdlike
on the wings of air. Most waited,
savoring the familiar view, savoring
its changes. There was no right or wrong.
Time would tell them when to fly.
And time, the creek told them,
has a way of doing things
in exactly the right order.