One Moment, Two Leaves

A chill wind unbound two of last year’s fallen linden leaves from the grass and sent them skittering across the drive, only to catch on the grass on the far side. Now they remain there, clutching one another. As witness to this, I am to find meaning, and I find none.

This has nothing to do with love, or worldly events, or the magpie that unfurled and sailed over at the same time. This is simply two leaves sent forth only to get stuck in a new place.

This is something that is nothing.

—Mitchell Hegman