#4

The leaves along the central boulevard have started to turn.  So few trees here do it, and after living in the desert for ten years it's a bit like time travel to slowly drive under their towering limbs and watch for that solitary yellow or red that might gather its pluck and throw itself with abandon into the autumn wind, sharing its exhilaration at that final act, after waiting so long among its stolid brethren, not knowing its fate, or perhaps not caring.  Were I walking under that waning canopy of brilliance, I'd capture yet another fallen star and preserve it as a bookmark.