Fall Dance

The cold front came in from the north, almost instantaneously.  As the dark clouds rolled in, we could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance.  I tried to hurry David inside before the first drops of rain, but when I turned to call him he had closed his eyes and tipped his head to feel the wind on his face.

He watched as the crisp leaves rolled down the street, tip over stem, scraping the cement.  Brown.  Yellow.  Red.  And he joined their dance, prancing to the edge of the driveway, one-two, one-two until he would go back to usher some more on their way, waving his arms in big circles like they too had been caught in the wind.

They were dancing to the music--the leaves, the wind and David.  Music only they could hear or appreciate.  And I was a mere spectator.