They pile against the fence, anxious to join the crowd inside. I open the gate, and they jostle to get in first.
They circle the stage, hooting, and tossing popcorn and confetti.
The wind enters the arena, wrapped in a rainbow. She steps onto the stage. The crowd whispers and rustles gum wrappers. The clouds scuttle to the balcony, and the sun spotlights the maple tree center stage.
Reddish brown leaves hum and fly as the wind shakes the tree.
The audience flips into the air in delight. The wind blows them away. Literally. Over the fence and into the street.
They leave behind debris they concealed under their coats, toenail clippings and lipstick-covered napkins from someone else’s trash.
I will not invite those vagrant leaves in next year.
published in Garden of Neuro
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