Crisp and crunchy,
fragile and brittle.
The brown, shriveled leaf
crumbled in a hand,
shredded to pieces
scattering to the concrete.
Not wavering on
this windless day,
the trees stood silent,
not whispering
a single sway.
Uttered not one peep
the chestnut sparrow
hopped to the curb.
A fairy-tale sky,
pretty blue,
cotton balls of white
lay solitary above;
without the sight of
soaring black birds
in curious circles.
The poky grass,
green like that leaf
maybe once was,
leaned neither
left nor right,
standing tall
without the intimidating
stare of the wind.
