Dead Leaves

"Dead leaves lay still until the wind takes them here and there: even the last flower is withered; yet there is a beauty in decay." Quote by _Constance La France My childhood home stood on a hill; tall, stately trees grew all around. And every Fall, leaves graced the lawn to weave a quilt upon the ground. I searched and gathered special ones, each with a brilliant, red-gold hue; aligned them in a large old book- and there they rested out of view. Our house was downed to build a bridge; this book, with many, packed away. Fast forward then some fifty years- that book was opened to display my leaves among the pages still- survived decay in perfect form; though muted- colors did stay true. I could not leave them there, forlorn. I soon arranged them behind glass- these withered leaves from long ago. Each day, their beauty I enjoy; still, many years decayed, they glow.