The dried and withered tree leaf was coaxed across the back deck by a wind that dropped the temperature by an additional seven degrees.
And in that leaf I saw an entire year of seasons. I saw the oak tree with a web of fresh, spindly branches tipped by green buds. The vision morphed into a towering tree laden with hundreds of leaves casting shifting shadows on the ground below. Those leaves changed from deep green to a blend of yellow, orange, and red. Then I saw the tree shaken bare by November winds - stripped of colored splendor the tree was little more than a skeleton with bony arms reaching upward.
Turning my back to the howling wind and studying the single leaf that had come to rest at my foot, I took comfort in the knowledge that the growing season moved closer with every passing day.
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