One by one, the leaves decide.
Who will go first? Who will hold on?
Who will be the last to go?
Already some could not resist
the chance to ride the wind
and fly, free of all restraints,
to sail birdlike on the wings of air.
Most waited, savoring the familiar view,
savoring its changes. Neither choice
was right or wrong. Time would tell them
when to fly. And time, the creek told them,
has its way of doing things
in exactly the perfect order.