Grand Finale
Most of the trees were completely bare now. Even the oak leaves had fallen, joining the crunchy, colorless heaps that littered the ground.
It had been a grand show. We’d given it a standing ovation.
But November wasn’t finished yet. She had one more trick up her sleeve.
So just as we were preparing to call it an autumn and take our attention indoors, she turned down the lights, turned up the winds, and signaled the sycamores.
Suddenly ten thousand leaves came sailing down around us, golden as toast and bigger than the span of both our hands. They tumbled and twirled like toy boats caught in a gale, laughing as they fell in great waves to the ground.
And we cheered them at the top of our lungs and gathered some as souvenirs just so we could remember.
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