See: on some Chicago street there stands a tree with a single, solitary leaf. Does it fear death, I wonder. Or is its defiance birthed from needing to be seen, needing to be heard – how it ruffles in the wind. It knows that it will be forgotten in death, trampled on, washed away by rain. Its only saving grace, I suspect, would be if it were caught mid-air by some lonely girl, who would keep and treasure it always, thinking that the leaf fell solely so that it could be caught by her.
And so the leaf fell, hoping to be caught.