The gust of wind kicked up and dropped the brittle brown leaf on the wooden table directly in front of me. Its edges curled up as if to smile. It rocked once to the left. Moments later it tilted back to the right then settled evenly again. Another gust of wind nearly lifted it, but its weight brought it back down. It scratched the table, nearly breaking off one of its tips. Then without warning, it was carried off.
It was speaking to me. But what did it say?
