I was just having a still moment looking at the Autumn clad Birch tree across the road. Just one leaf was waving in a slight breeze, its quivering shadow cast on the silver bark trunk. Then a leaf from higher up fell through the branches. The one leaf quivered on. And I moved on to other matters.

I’m not sure why this scene moved me to write about it. Perhaps another instance of not needing to derive meaning, yet still called to record it.

This post is for Linda whose life is quivering, readying to loose from the branch. And for her husband sitting close by.