I Have Arrived

I wonder why that one leaf clings lone and wind-tattered to the weathered old oak; held firm between gnarled fingers long after the others have given in to spiral dance in bravery to the ground below Is there hope, a promise made between leaf and tree of something greater yet to come, or is it reluctance to let go, even fear that inspires such hesitation? I have been more and less like the second leaf, than the first (though I would dearly love to know what it waits for) I lack the patience for hanging around so I let go into the arms of fate never to know whether I will fall or be caught until I have arrived